


The Tribute

by Siancore



Category: Richonne - Fandom, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dom!Michonne, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Heavy BDSM, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Richonne - Freeform, Smut, Sub!Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siancore/pseuds/Siancore
Summary: Set in a dystopian future where society has reverted back to feudalism. Lords and Ladies rule the lands. Their Vassals offer Tributes of their eldest child when they come of age. Some Tributes serve as combatants to entertain their overlords, others as sexual playthings trained in the art of erotic submission. Richonne BDSM AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a little while now. Set in a post-apocalyptic dystopian future where society has reverted back to feudalism. Part medieval, part Southern gothic. This story contains mature themes of heavy BDSM and dubious consent; it is a sexually explicit DarkFic featuring Dom!Michonne and sub!Rick. Do not keep reading if this does not appeal to you. Enjoy!

The Tribute

_Prologue_

The War of the Dead ended five centuries ago. Warlords who built armies have now carved out their own Fiefdoms from amidst the ruin. Society has been rebuilt by those who wield power and dominion others: Lords and Ladies. Their vassals, or sworn subjects, offer a Tribute of their eldest born child, and upon their twenty-first birthday, they are sent to their Lord or Lady's Fiefdom to enter into servitude. Some Tributes serve as combatants to entertain their overlords, others as sexual playthings trained in the art of erotic submission. When their twelve-month residency is over, the Tribute is allowed to return home or remain in service to the Lord or Lady.

_The Eve of Liberalia_

The quaint, dimly lit room is bare and almost empty, save for the man on the bed. He is recovering from his wounds, and has finally awakened after some time of unconsciousness. The bright light flickers in his eyes as he pries them open; it stings. It is of no consequence, since the pounding in his head is drowning it out. Blinking in rapid succession, he tries to sit up. Dizziness overwhelms him, so he brings his head back to the pillow and closes his eyes while trying to gather his thoughts.

"Ah, you're awake," says a female voice. "Daddy! He's awake."

Instinctively, he reaches for his sidearm; it's not there. A sense of dread and confusion sets in. Before he can raise himself from the hard bed, an older man is suddenly at his side.

"Hello, there," he offers with a smile. "Good to see you're finally up. I'm Hershel. I helped you with your wounds. D'ya wanna tell me your name?"

The injured man looks at him silently, while he orders his thoughts.

"Son," he urges. "What's your name?"

"Rick," he answers dryly, his voice hoarse from disuse. "My name is Rick."

…..

After the initial confusion passes, Rick begins to recall why he is there. He wolfs down the humble serving of soup and bread. It's as if I haven't eaten in years. Hershel, and his two daughters, watch the stranger with fascination. While he finds it quite irritating, he understands why: It is not often that travellers, who are not merchants or politicians, ever visit other fiefdoms. The man sitting at their dining table is a visitor; he, like Hershel and his family, do not speak with the same drawl as the others in the region. Their homelands are much farther south. Even though he has said few words, they know he is a Southron like they are; like they were.

"Where'd you come from?" Hershel asks from across the table.

Rick looks up from his food, and then shrugs. He knows where he is; he knows where he is from, but he does not tell them. Instead, he feigns ignorance; pretends to have amnesia. It is best that these kindly people do not know of his true intentions.

"I don't really remember," says Rick, giving them a woeful glance. "I've travelled around a little while, I know that much. But I can't give you an answer on that one."

"That's sad to hear," says Hershel. "But it's common for memory loss after someone's been through what you have."

"What have I been through?"

"You were shot," Hershel explains. "My eldest daughter, Maggie, she found you on the outskirts of our land. You were badly wounded and bleeding. Out of it. Real disoriented. She brought you back here to our home. I patched you up. That was nearly a month ago."

Rick looks to the young woman sitting to his left, and offers her a grateful nod. He is surprised that so much time has passed.

"I wanna thank y'all for the hospitality," says Rick. "Thanks for takin' care of me."

"Don't mention it," Hershel replies. "You need to be rested and strong. It's the Eve of Liberalia."

Rick looks around the small home; he thought as much, considering the decorative masks hanging above their hearth.

"You have to turn me over to your Lord?" he asks.

"Yes," Hershel answers. "It's the law around here."

"I understand," he replies. "How do Tributes work around these parts?"

"Are you a from a Noble family?" asks Hershel.

"No," Rick lies. "I don't think so."

"Well, son, it's the same as any of the other regions," he offers. "You owe a debt, so you've gotta pay it, Noble or not. You might be a lil' old to be a Pleasure Boy, but I'm sure you're strong enough to fight, in spite of your damage. My Maggie is ready to be a Tribute. I'll take you both to the Citadel tomorrow."

Rick glances at the young woman. She has a steely determination in her eyes. He almost feels sorry for her, knowing what she is about to endure. Many young people dread the day that they go into servitude, others welcome it; Rick recalls his own residency as a Tribute, many years ago.

"I'm strong enough to fight, too," she says.

Hershel and Rick share a deliberate look: Both know she's too pretty to be made to fight in the tourneys.

…..

_The Festival of Liberalia_

The journey to the Citadel is fairly short. Rick rides in the back of the carriage with Maggie while Hershel drives. His younger daughter stayed home; the old man wanting to spare her the excitement and debauchery of the Liberalia festivities. From the decorations to the jovial atmosphere, people are already preparing for the enjoyment that is to come.

Masks, not unlike the one's hanging in the Greene's home, decorate the treetops. Ribbons and brightly colored pieces of string brighten up the posts on the sides of the roads. There are many people in the streets; a few delivering goods for the celebratory events, others already inebriated. There's certain spark to the air; an eagerness and a hint of dread.

Rick takes it all in. His own memories reignited at the scenes that they pass. Liberalia marks the beginning of servitude for many Tributes. It is a tradition that has been in existence for as long as anyone could remember. Even though it is something still practiced in Rick's homeland, it isn't something he particularly agrees with.

He was a Tribute when he turned twenty-one, as were his friends. They were curious about what their servitude would entail, but also slightly afraid at the thought of leaving their homes. There were many a story told of the treatment of Tributes throughout their tenancy. Some spoke of being awakened to the desires of the flesh; finding it a pleasurable experience. Others recalled complete submission that taught them only disdain for their captors.

Rick thinks back to the time when he was a Tribute. He was somewhat unruly, but learned how to get by. He remembers some Lords and Ladies being merciful, while others enjoyed cruelty too much. Now, as he and his companions arrive at the Citadel, it seems history is repeating. He is about to undergo the ordeal of servitude again. He inhales deeply musing how the first time didn't kill him; and lamenting how his friends weren't so lucky.

xXxXx

The Citadel is little more than a large stately home on a farm. It may have been something to behold when it was first built. Now, behind reinforced steel walls, it is a relic from a time long since gone. Rick, Hershel, and Maggie have been ushered into the courtyard. People, some Noble, others common, mill around. Their eyes take keen interest in the new arrivals as they make their way quietly through the grounds. Someone steps up to them, and speaks to Hershel.

"What's your business here?" they ask.

"I've brought Tributes for His Lordship and Her Ladyship," Hershel replies.

"Take 'em around the back," the say, and they move on.

There is a line of people around the back of the main building. They're all dressed in finery, signifying that they come from Noble families; the sons, daughters, and wards of Vassals. Here to honor their family's oaths. Here to offer up their bodies for service. Rick remembers when he first came to Court as a Tribute. That was such a long time ago. Judging by the sullen looks on the faces of these young people, it is evident that not much has changed.

The line moves slowly, and, in time, Hershel, Maggie, and Rick reach the end of it. Hershel hands over a document in an envelope to an Official. It's the Negotiation Agreement that he and his daughter have signed. He is hoping that they will just take Rick as an added bonus, and goes about explaining the situation. The Official who receives them eyes the younger of the men curiously; his gaze flitting over his form. Rick stares back at him. After a moment's consideration, the Official says that they will accept him, since he owes a debt to His Lordship. It is noted in a ledger, and they are told to move along.

"Thank you for takin' me in," says Rick while shaking Hershel's hand.

"No need to thank me," he replies. "Anyone would've done it."

"All the same," Rick adds. "I do appreciate it."

"Good luck," says Hershel.

"Thanks," Rick offers. "I'm gonna need it."

Then, he steps through the large, wooden doors and leaves the old man and his daughter to say their goodbyes. The line he has joined continues to move at a snail's pace, but soon, they are all ushered into the cellar of the house through a narrow walkway. It is more of a dungeon, now; dark and cool and nestled in the bowels of the earth.

There are not any supplies down there, just room for people. Room for Tributes. Bunk beds line the walls and fill any free space that might have shown how large this cellar actually is. Rick glances behind and sees that Maggie is there a little ways back. There are at least twenty other people there with them. Some waiting quietly, appearing forlorn; others in tears. All of them not knowing what fate awaits them.

A tall woman enters from a large steel door and perches herself upon a small dais near the entrance. She is wearing black gloves that match her short, formfitting dress. She holds a riding crop in her right hand. Her face is stern, and her eyes have seen much depravity. She is handsome. She is at home in this vaulted dungeon.

"It smells of despair in here," she proclaims. "You will stop your crying, now."

The unfortunate souls all give her their undivided attention, ignoring the servants who have entered after her and begun to fill a number of troughs with water. She regards the new group of Tributes. Her unsympathetic eyes examine their many different body types and faces. She takes note of those visibly distressed. A small smile creeps across her thin lips.

"Don't be so dramatic," she adds. "You all knew this day would come. Now, wash yourselves and prepare to meet your new Master and Mistress. The Attendants here will guide you and do my bidding; do as they ask, and you'll be fine. Disappoint me, and there'll be Hell to pay. Now strip those clothes off and wash away the tiredness of your journey."

Her gaze falls on Rick as he begins to undress; she stares curiously, taking in his appearance. He is far from a scared twenty-one year old. She notices. She steps closer as he splashes his face with water.

"What do we have here?" she asks no one in particular. "You're not the type of Tribute we're used to in this part of the world."

Looking up a moment, Rick remembers his own training from many years ago.

"No, ma'am," he says, gaze now averted; hands behind his back. He is not at all docile and meek, but this undertaking requires his compliance, for a time. He acquiesces to this little power exchange and plays the part of the submissive well.

"Why are you here?" she queries further.

"I owe His Lordship a debt," Rick replies. "I'm here to repay it, however he sees fit."

She runs her hand up over the crop, and looks over his now shirtless body.

"Remove those britches," she order. Rick does as he is told. He chances a look at her face, but she is preoccupied with eyeing his manhood.

"You're well-built," she says. "And you've got a nice, big cock. I'm sure His Lordship and Her Ladyship will find some use for you."

He eyes move slowly from his sex, up his firm body, until her stare reaches his face. She licks her lips and then says, "Now finish cleaning yourself."

Rick does not look her in the eye as he nods his head and continues to wash. The remainder of this day will be long, as will the night, he muses. The woman returns to her place atop the dais and watches everyone. After a moment, she speaks again.

"Welcome to the Stables," she says. "I am the Lady who presides over them. Where you spoiled children of Vassals will share the same quarters as common servants. This is your first day as a Tribute. It is an honor and the best day of your life. A Tradition that we have held for centuries. Be grateful that you are here to offer yourselves to your new Master and Mistress. Here, at the Citadel, you will give yourself over to be used as your Overlords see fit. Today, your official training begins. The Attendants are at the end of their residency. They will prepare you for what is to come. Be willing, Tributes; there's a lot of pleasure to be found here. Embrace it, and your time will a torturous delight."

With that, she turns heel and leaves them. Rick lets out a discreet sigh.

_I'm too old for this_ , he thinks to himself. _But it has given me entry to the Citadel. I will bide my time until I can fulfil my mission._

He splashes cool water on his face once more as a young man approaches. He waits until Rick dries himself off with his discarded shirt.

"Here," says the stranger, holding a pair of thick, leather cuffs out to him. "Put these on."

Rick knows the drill, and takes them from the younger man. The cuffs are weighty, and dark in color. There are sturdy steel rings attached to them; it makes it easier for the wearer to be bound quickly and securely.

"You look a lot older than a lot of the others," he says.

_Great_ , Rick thinks. _He's chatty._

"I'm not a Tribute," he goes on to explain. "I'm not a Noble. I'm just here 'cause I owe a debt."

"I see," he replies, assisting with the buckles on the cuffs. "So, you know this can go one of three way for you, then."

"I know," Rick says. "They'll either force me to fight, fuck, or die."

"Right," he says. "So you've heard about what happens here then?"

"Yes."

He leans in closer, and then says, "I'm Glenn, by the way. What's your name?"

"You're nearly done here, Glenn," Rick whispers in response. "Don't ruin it by gettin' too familiar with His Lordships new pets."

The young man nods his head, and sees the error of his ways. Fraternization between Tributes outside of what pleases the Lord and Lady is forbidden. Getting to know others in service of the Overlords is not a good idea, generally. Getting to know Rick Grimes is, more likely than not, the _worst_ idea. Suddenly, a loud, shrill noise pierces the air. Everyone, Tributes and Attendants alike, stop what they are doing. It is the blaring sound of a whistle. It's the woman who welcomed them before: The Lady of the Stables. She has returned.

"Girls," she begins. "The cosmetics that the Attendants are giving you now are to be used on your lips. The ones on your face must match the ones between your legs in color. Get it right; you will be inspected. Boys, make sure your little peckers get hard, and remain that way during the Cortège; you will be examined. I do not expect to see one dry cunny or one limp prick from any of you. Now, get to work; you have twenty minutes until you are presented at Court. Isn't this exciting?"

Rick regards the others as their expressions carry a look of horror with a hint of anticipation. His thoughts go back to the first time he ever took part in a Cortège. The procession was long because of the number of Tributes that year. He recalls how he was so nervous before he and the others were to be paraded before the Nobility. They would scrutinize the young men and women, and make a judgement on whether they wanted to fuck them or not. Rick remembers being unable to maintain an erection. The Stable Master made one of the other Tributes, a plump redhead, take his flaccid cock into her mouth and suck him off until he was stiff and aching. As his mind drifted back to the present situation, he mused he needed no such help that day; running his hand up and down the shaft worked just fine.

…..

_The Cortège_

Tributes enter the small ballroom in single file behind the Lady of the Stables. Their wrists shackled in front by a small chain fastened to the rings of the cuffs. They walk at an even pace, yet not in step with one another. They are trying not to trip because no one knows what they will do to the poor creature who breaks the procession line.

Surprisingly, they are allowed to look around the room; Rick supposes that those in charge are less concerned with it being an act of disobedience and more of a chance to make the Tributes feel overwhelmed. And it is overwhelming. There are Nobles everywhere. Their eyes drink them in. They whisper to one another; they jeer at the Tributes; they stare. No one lays a finger on them just yet; they have to wait for the Lord and Lady of the house.

The room is nice by the standards of the Nobility. It has high a ceiling with two strategically placed chandeliers hanging down. Candle stands are in the corners and offer added light. There are sofas of varied designs placed at the walls. A long, narrow table cuts through the center of the room, and is filled with many delicious looking foods.

At the front of the room sits two large thrones, side-by-side, atop a dais that is set between two large columns. The columns reach the ceiling, and have two large, metal rings attached just below the half-way mark. This is for the purpose of holding a subject in place to enact punitive measures for misdemeanors. Instruments to aid in their punishments are fixed to the column for all to see; the various tools of torture are an imposing sight. They are a constant reminder for those who have entered into servitude that such arrangements will not work without subservience.

Rick keeps his expression neutral. Their slow pace affords him with the opportunity to appraise the room. He takes note of any exits, and how many people are serving as sentries to guard the place. There are two sentries at either end of the room. He wonders if they are there to add to the appearance of grandeur and importance, or if they really have duties to fulfill. Knowing what he does of His Lordship, Rick surmises that they are most likely there for protection.

When the Tributes reach the front of the room, they are ordered to face the thrones and then kneel. Rick finds it difficult to lower himself since his bound wrists are keeping him off balance; the aching erection he has does not help. Someone a little farther down the line falls over. Immediately, there is a sound of a riding crop slicing through the air, and smacking bare skin. It is followed by a sharp, pained cry, and the gasps of shock from fellow Tributes; laughter comes from the amused Nobles. Their fun has already started.

The floor is cold and rough under Rick's knees. He keeps his eyes forward, and tries to ignore the discomfort he is presently experiencing. The sound of a door being unlocked and opened grabs his attention. Off to the right, a young page steps through the door and walks across the floor in front of the dais. He stops, faces the audience, before speaking.

"Please welcome His Lordship and Her Ladyship," he says, while gesturing to the door.

His Lordship enters first and the room grows silent. Rick has seen a photograph of him before, but muses that he looks a lot different in person. Lord John is tall with dark hair; his frame adorned with chainmail. He walks across the floor with his head held high. He is handsome, with a steely gaze. He has a large scar in the shape of a _v_ near his eye on the right side of his face. He does not smile. He does not look at the Tributes, instead, he waits at the steps of the dais for his Lady. A flash of red draws Rick's attention back to the door.

_It's her._ The pictures do not do justice to her beauty. Rick holds his breath and takes her in. She is stunning. Her face is beautiful; her hair sits atop her head in an intricate up-do. Large brown eyes look brightly over the audience. Her lips turn up at the corners in a small smile. She does not regard the Tributes as she walks with determination and poise. Her dress flows elegantly about her feet. It fits her form perfectly, caressing each curve. Rick finds himself staring. His gaze follows the line of her clavicle, and falls on her breasts. When she passes by, he takes in her round backside. His manhood grows harder; it twitches as it stands proudly before him. He watches as His Lordship takes his Lady's hand and helps her up the steps, following behind. He holds her hand until she is seated on her throne. Rick keeps his gaze fixed to the beautiful woman, ignoring her mate as he steps forward to address his Vassals.

"Welcome Courtiers and other Noblemen, to the Festival of Liberalia," says Lord John, and the room erupts into applause. Rick is drawn from his reverie and brought back to the moment. The man standing before them commands attention. His accent is distinct and resembles that of an Englishman. He speaks, and the commotion dies down abruptly. "It's been a full year since we last gathered here, and I am pleased to say it's been a fruitful, pleasurable time."

The crowd applauds once more before Lord John continues to speak.

"Last year's Tributes are at the end of their tenure, and new Tributes await theirs to begin," he says while gesturing to Rick and his fellow captives. "Today marks the beginning of their servitude to their Lord and Lady. Let us begin by taking stock. Tributes, get to your feet."

Clumsily, Rick and the others clambered with difficulty until they were standing. Some try to cover their nakedness with their bound hands, but a swift cracking of a nearby whip dissuades them from doing so.

Lord John eyes them before smiling, and turning to his Lady to ask, "Do you want to see them, my love?"

Her Ladyship offers him a slight shake of her head, and answers, "No, thank you, my Lord; you should inspect them first."

Rick's ears prick up at the sweet cadence of her voice. She looks regal, sitting on her large wooden throne. She commands Rick's consideration more than His Lordship does. She smiles a little, and places her hands in her lap before nodding her head, urging Lord John to inspect his new property.

"As you wish, my Lady," he replies as he steps from the dais and approaches his Tributes; his page hands him a piece of paper listing the Tributes and from which family they come.

Slowly, he walks along the line of young men and women. Using his free, gloved hand, Lord John cups their faces, and squeezes their backsides. He thumbs their nipples, and handles their erections; fondles and strokes them. The Tributes remain silent and pliant, as they were taught to be. Some tremble as he passes, others are afraid to look at him. Some are told to bend over or to part their legs. Their Lord takes his time. Rick keeps his own gaze averted and waits. He knows he will draw increased attention due to his age and apparent reason for being there.

The whole room is silent as Lord John makes his way down the line. Suddenly, he stops in front of Rick. He reaches out and presses the bandaged area at the side of his lower abdomen. Rick does not flinch, even though there is some discomfort.

"The physician Hershel sent you?" Lord John enquires.

"Yes, my Lord," Rick replies.

"And you're injured?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How?"

"I was attacked, Sir."

"It's dangerous to travel these lands."

"Yes, my Lord."

"It says here that Hershel states you're still recovering."

"I feel fine, my Lord."

"Well, you look like you can fuck," he says, gesturing to Rick's protruding erection. "But can you fight?"

"Yes, Sir," Rick answers.

"So you say. You're a lot older than I like," he offers. "Maybe I have no use for you, a wounded, middle-aged man. What do you think?"

"You're the Lord of the Citadel," Rick says. "It's your choice, Sir. My thoughts don't matter."

Lord John smirks and lets out a dry laugh. He turns to face his Lady, who is watching their exchange with great fascination.

"What should I do with this one, my Lady?" he asks.

"Unshackle him and bring him to me," she instructs, without much thought, and the page does as she says.

Rick's cuffs are unclasped and he is led to the dais. Her Ladyship gestures for him to be brought closer. He is led up the steps, and stood in front of her. Rick cannot help but stare at her face. His blue eyes meet her dark brown before she searches his naked body. Her eyes wander over his chest first, then southward to his straining cock. She reaches her hand forward and trails it over his abdomen. He shivers unwittingly at her touch, while his cock quivering; clear, sticky fluid drips from his large, red crown.

She smiles wickedly at him and grips the link in the cuffs, drawing him closer to her. She takes her the pad of thumb and wipes the precum from his tip. Rick closes his eyes and tries desperately not to lose all of his composure. Even though he is standing naked in a room full of people, it feels as if only he and the Lady of the Citadel are there. If she touches him again, he muses, he just might explode.

"Kneel," she commands, and Rick does so before the throne, almost too eagerly.

He looks up at Her Ladyship before she leans forward and runs her fingers through his hair.

"What do you think, my love?" asks Lord John while he watches them amusedly.

She grips Rick's curls and pulls them roughly so that his face is lifted toward her.

"I think he's pretty," she replies, in a matter-of-fact manner. Rick steadies his breathing. He is enjoying the way she is handling him.

"They're all pretty, My Lady," says Lord John. "What do you want to do with this one? Shall we send him to the arena? Cut him loose? Pass him around?"

"No," she says as she looks down at Rick, and runs her precum-coated thumb over his bottom lip so that he can taste himself. "No one else is to touch this one. He's mine."

"Very well, my Love," Lord John replies, before he turns and addresses the Court. "Lady Michonne has spoken and made her claim: This Tribute belongs to her."


	2. Chapter 2

Attendants come and clear the table of food, but drink is still flowing in abundance. Courtiers do as Lord John requests and step away from the table. They fill the sofas, or stand near the walls where the Tributes are waiting. His Lordship and Her Ladyship remain seated.

He gestures for a servant to step forward with a small bell set on a silver tray. Lord John takes it and rings it. Immediately, two young women enter the room, hand-in-hand. Each wearing sheer negligees with nothing underneath.

A male Attendant helps them up onto the table. They nod their heads in the direction of the Lord and Lady, before slowly undressing one another. When they are completely naked, they offer the Courtiers coy smiles, and then lower themselves to the table top.

One woman lies on her back and spreads her eager thighs apart, displaying a neatly shaven sex. The other woman kneels between her legs, parting them further with dainty hands. She dips her head and licks her pink tongue over her companion's slit before sucking her clitoris into her mouth. The guests watch as the kneeling woman spreads the other woman's folds apart and stiffens her tongue, prodding it in and out of her opening. Her attentions elicit pleasured moans as the woman on her back pinches her own nipples.

"Open your legs," says Lord John to the kneeling woman, and she does so immediately, giving him and his Lady a perfect view of her ass and pussy.

"Now touch yourself," says Lady Michonne, and the woman obliges by rubbing her engorged lips and then slipping a keen finger between them.

Several Courtiers begin to pleasure themselves and each other, desperate to find some release for their arousal. The room smells of sex.

Pleased, Her Ladyship smiles before her eyes find Rick. While every other person in the room is watching the sensual display in front of them, Rick is watching Michonne. His eyes drink her in, even though he could easily be reprimanded for ogling her so blatantly. His erection begins to return, and it is not from the loud moans, or the sight of one woman sucking and licking another's pussy; it is not from the sight of Courtiers now undressing one another. It is from the hungry look in Her Ladyship's eyes.

She stares at Rick as she reaches a hand over to His Lordship's crotch. Deft hands find John's bulge. She rubs him through his trousers, all the while keeping her gaze fixed on Rick. He swallows hard, wishing it was his cock she was rubbing. Wishing he was sitting in His Lordship's place.

She sips from her wine glass, eyes still locked onto Rick's, as John frees his erection from his pants. Taking it into her hands, she strokes his length. Her gaze falls to Rick's cock. He grows stiffer knowing she is taking him in. It's as if no one else is in the room; as if there isn't an orgy beginning. As if this woman he wantonly desires is not causing the Lord of the Citadel to quiver under her touch.

Rick so desperately wants to stroke himself, but he dare not touch his rigid manhood. He does not have Her permission to do so. Instead, he watches as the powerful, commanding woman brings their Lord to orgasm before gesturing for an attendant to bring her a wet towel to clean her hand.

She finishes her wine and then stands; Lord John tucks himself back into his pants and continues to watch the show. Keeping her eyes on Rick, Lady Michonne approaches him slowly. He feels his mouth begin to salivate as she draws nearer. He brazenly holds her gaze.

When she is standing in front of him, she looks him up and down before saying, "You dare to stare at me, Tribute?"

Right away, Rick looks to the floor as he dips his head out of respect.

"I'm sorry, My Lady," he replies.

"I didn't say you could speak," she retorts, even though his drawl causes her sex to pulse.

He remains silent.

"I bet you liked how I made our Lord come," she teases. "I bet you wish it was your nice cock in my hand."

Rick swallows hard. His dick trembles at her words. She smiles at him before leaning close to his ear. She smells of jasmine. He wishes she would touch him, but she does not. Instead, she whispers to him.

"You should touch yourself later," she instructs. "When you're alone in your quarters."

Her breath is warm on his skin. He closes his eyes.

"You should think of me while you do it," she adds before stepping backwards and then walking away.

Rick opens his eyes and watches the sway of her hips as she returns to her seat at the table. The aching in his loins grows stronger as he silently hopes the night concludes soon so that he might picture her beautiful face while he fucks himself.

...

The morning is still dark outside when Rick and the other Tributes are roused from their slumber. The orgy went long into the night. Lady Michonne retired early, untouched by her liege, and allowed Rick to as well. He was thankful to return on his own so he could relieve his arousal. He did not sleep well, and now, in the daylight, was happy to be clothed once more.

The new day starts with breakfast in an outdoors dining area reserved for Attendants, Tributes, and servants. Long tables are placed in close proximity and lined with benches. A roof made of thatch covers the area. Sentries stand off to the side, but do not stop those eating from speaking to one another. Rick finds Maggie and takes up a seat beside her. She appears tired.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks.

"I didn't," she responds. "You?"

"Same," he answers. "What time did y'all get back from the Feast?"

"Not sure," she says. "It was well after midnight. My feet hurt from standin' up. I didn't realize there'd be so much standin'. Will every night be like that?"

"Not likely," Rick offers.

"I hope you're right."

"Are you okay?" he queries with genuine concern, and watches as her eyes grow watery.

Maggie shakes her head and says, "Not really."

"Hey. It gets easier."

She offers him a gentle smile and says, "That's easy for you to say; Her Ladyship has taken a likin' to you."

"That probably ain't a good thing," he responds. "I reckon she's a lot more dangerous than His Lordship."

The pair share a laugh when an apparently clumsy young man pushes behind them and nudges Maggie forward quite roughly.

"Hey, asshole," she snaps. "Wanna watch where you're goin'?"

"Screw you," he says and keeps walking. Immediately, Rick gets to his feet and follows behind him. He places a hand to his shoulder, causing him to turn.

"You owe the lady an apology, dipshit," says Rick.

The young man swats his hand away and says, "I'm not apologizing to some low-born, Southern bitch. Screw her, and screw you, too."

Without a second thought, Rick balls his fist and then punches the disrespectful man in the jaw. He lands on the ground, dropping his food as he falls. Before the guards can get hold of Rick, Maggie is pushing him out of the way so she can kick the offender in the stomach over and over again.

...

The small room is sparsely lit. A large mahogany desk sits in front of a matching leather chair. A portrait of Lady Michonne hangs on the wall behind it.

Rick and Maggie stand waiting with their hands bound at their backs. Two guards hold their posts at the door. After a moment, His Lordship enters. He sits, and then looks to his sentries. He appears hungover.

"What happened?" he asks. "Don't tell me these two were caught fucking."

"No, My Lord," one guard offers. "They attacked another Tribute at breakfast. A healthy looking boy."

John glares at Rick and Maggie, before sighing loudly.

"Was he hurt badly?"

"Broken jaw, My Lord."

John clenches his own jaw and narrows his eyes at the pair.

"Why, might I ask, did you two think it was perfectly fine for you to attack one of my Tributes? To damage my property?"

Neither attempt to speak.

"Answer me," he booms, while hitting his fist on the desktop.

"Let me offer apologies, Your Lordship," Rick says quickly. "He was disrespectful to her. I couldn't let it go unpunished."

"And who gave you the right to dole out punishments, commoner?"

"No one, Your Lordship."

"Exactly," John replies. "No one gave you the right to punish my Tributes. If someone causes you offense, you do nothing. If they cause you harm, you report to my guards. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," says Rick. "My apologies."

"Now you, young lady, what part in this attack did you play?"

"I kicked him, My Lord."

"While he was down?" John asks.

"Yes, Sir."

He sighs audibly and shakes his head. Just then, Lady Michonne enters the room and eyes the Tributes curiously. She is dressed much more casually than she was the night before. Her evening gown swapped for pants and a tank top.

"John," she starts as she stands next to him. "What's going on? Were these two caught fraternizing?"

"No, My Love," Lord John replies. "They attacked a fellow Tribute because he caused the young lady offense."

Michonne looks at the woman in question.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Maggie, My Lady."

"Maggie, did the young man harm you? Was he inappropriate? Did he touch you?"

"No, Ma'am. He cussed at me."

"What did you do?"

"I kicked him in the gut while he was on the ground, My Lady."

Michonne holds back an amused grin. She turns her attention to Rick.

"And you," she says. "You attacked him because?"

"He was disrespectful, My Lady," Rick explains.

"I don't like disrespectful little shits either, but you can't go around attacking His Lordship's property. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Rick replies quickly. "I'm sorry."

"You will be if you persist with this behavior," Lord John interjects.

"Your plans for them, My Lord?" Michonne asks.

"I had thought to throw them in the stocks for the day," he answers. "But they can spend the rest of the morning mucking out the horse stables, they will receive no lunch, and are hereby relegated to the Pugilists' Quarters."

"Maggie as well?"

"Yes, My Love," says John. "If she insists on fighting her fellow Tributes, she can do it for our pleasure. Do you both understand that this means you are now combatants and will serve us in the Arena?"

"Yes, Sir," they each reply.

"You are only allowed to fuck or fight if we tell you to," he says. "You would do well to remember that. Guards, get them out of my sight."

Michonne watches as they are led away, and can't help but wonder if there is something going on between them. She feels a pang of jealousy rise up inside of her, but soon shakes such a silly notion from her mind.

She sits on the desktop and looks down at John.

"You look terrible," she says. "You should go back to bed."

He places a hand to her thigh and caresses it.

"Only if you come with me," he says.

Michonne covers his hand with hers, but then shifts it. She stands and moves away from him, before saying, "Sorry, I've got training to do."

Lord John eyes his beautiful consort and fails to hide his disappointment.

"You wound me, My Love."

"Then let me leave you," she says, half jokingly.

"Never," he replies.

...

The sun beats down on Rick and Maggie as they trudge over to the training grounds. The grounds are situated in a field at the back of the property near a small barn. Several men are there. They are hitting punching bags and sparring with wooden swords and bare hands.

A man named Morgan greets them and introduces himself. He is the trainer. He explains the rules that they must follow, and what is expected of them. They are informed that a tourney will mark Lord John's fast-approaching birthday, and all fighters are in training to compete against one another.

"You can use any of the training weapons," says Morgan. "But you have to stay in the designated area."

He gestures to the wooden fence, before pointing to a separate area outside of the barrier near a large rainwater tank.

"That's where Her Ladyship trains," he says. "You're not allowed to go over there unless you need to drink. Don't do anything to distract her when she's training the youngsters. Don't even look at her. Now, get to work."

With that, he walks away leaving the pair standing there.

"Maggie," Rick starts. "I think you're the only woman here."

"I think you're right," she agrees as they walk towards the weapons. "But I'd rather be out here than on my back in the Citadel."

...

Beads of sweat roll down Rick's face as he pummels the punching bag. He no longer feels the discomfort in his knuckles from earlier. He is running on adrenaline. His stomach growls from emptiness. He vaguely thinks that sleep will not evade him this night.

Taking a break, Rick wanders over to get some water to drink from the tank. He brings the communal cup to his lips and swallows the liquid quickly. He fills it once more, and then pours it over his head to stave off the heat of the day. Just then, something grabs his attention: It is Lady Michonne heading towards her personal training area with several young people in tow.

She has a sword strapped to her back, and is holding the hands of two children. The children let go of her and race toward the fenced off area. Rick watches her. He is mesmerized by her. He recalls seeing her many years ago; she has changed little. If she notices him, she does not let it show.

She waits for the youngsters to choose their wooden swords, and then takes her spot in front of them. They line up neatly and wait for her to speak.

"Practice the parrying moves with a partner," she orders. "Missy, you're with me."

A teenager steps up to Michonne with a sword of her own, and the pair of them move away from the group.

Rick watches as they use their very real, very sharp swords to begin their training. He watches Michonne slice the air with her sword; he watches her stop and offer advice to her students. She is focused and determined. He eyes her glistening skin and shapely form.

He does not know how long he has been standing there for, when he is suddenly knocked to his knees by a swift kick from behind.

"You fuckin' asshole," says the random sentry. "How dare you watch Her Ladyship. You're not meant to be hanging around here. I'll teach you a lesson."

The guard then kicks Rick in the back, causing him to fall on his front, before reaching for a riding crop. He lifts it above his head and readies himself to swing it when a voice calls out.

"Stop!"

Both Rick and the guard look up to see Lady Michonne approaching.

"What's going on here?" she asks.

"My Lady, this man was looking at you. He was watching you train when he should be training himself," he stammers. "I was merely going to lash him a few times to remind him of his place."

"You'll do no such thing," she commands. "He is mine. Not one hair on his head will be harmed, do you understand me?"

"But..."

"Not another word!" she says. "Hand me that crop, now."

The guard does as he is told.

"Leave," she orders, and he does.

"My Lady, thank you," Rick offers.

"Get up," Michonne says, and he gets to his feet.

Her stern demeanor changes to something flirtatious.

"You're trouble, aren't you?" she asks while stepping closer to Rick. She is as beautiful as he remembers out under the blazing sun. If she recognizes him, she does not let it show. She runs her hand up and down the riding crop and stares him in the eye.

"You like watching me?"

His gaze falls to her heart shaped lips. She takes the crop and trails the leather along the side of his face.

"Answer me."

"Yes, My Lady," says Rick. "I like watching you."

"Good," she says, before brushing a stray curl away from his face. "I like it when you watch me."

Lady Michonne backs away from Rick and then turns her back on him before calling out, "Get back to your training."

...

The water is a welcome relief. Rick washes away the filth of the day. The Pugilists' Quarters are away from the Stables underneath the Citadel. They're less crowded and gift occupants with much more privacy. Though Tributes who are combatants require more rigorous training than those who are at the erotic beck and call of their Overlords, both situations are physically demanding.

After washing up, Rick puts his clothing back on, and goes to find Maggie so that they might eat dinner together. He feels a sense of fraternal responsibility for the young woman. She had saved his life, after all. He owes more of a debt to her than he does to their Lord.

As he reaches the dining area, a guard promptly approaches. Rick stops, wondering if he will be on the receiving end of some

form of smug harassment. He waits with his hands at his side while staring the guard down. There is still this defiance inside of him that has been hard to control.

"You're required in the Citadel," says the sentry. He taps the baton hanging from his belt with one hand, while gesturing for Rick to walk with his other.

Rick clenches his jaw, but moves along. When they reach the back entrance, the guard gets him to halt. He then fixes a dark, soft blindfold to the unsuspecting Tribute's eyes before clasping his cuffs together at the back. Stumbling slightly, Rick steps through the doorway and is led into the kitchen and up the stairs.

He has no idea what is happening, or why he has been summoned. He muses that Lord John may have changed his mind about how Rick would be serving him.

Without too much time to ponder his fate, Rick is finally taken to a room. He is led inside and forced to kneel. His blindfold remains in place; his wrists remain bound. Rick steadies his breathing as he hears the guard's footfalls retreat, and the door close.

He does not move, but is keenly aware of his other senses. He can smell the scent of candles burning. It is mingled with the aroma of jasmine. He dare not let his excitement show, but he hopes Her Ladyship is near.

The wooden floorboards creak a little as someone draws closer to Rick. Their footwear taps loudly and he remains perfectly still. Fingers thread through his hair before his blindfold is removed.

It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light in the room, but he knows it is Lady Michonne standing in front of him. She is dressed in a short satin robe that is red in color with lacy sleeves. Her hair is pulled back from her face; black stiletto heels adorn her feet.

She smiles down at Rick. His eyes take her in as he feels his arousal growing.

"These are my personal chambers," she says. "No one will interrupt us here."

The walls are a deep red that make the black furnishings stand out. There are framed mirrors and beautiful ornaments that give it a look of luxury. Heavy drapes cover the windows, and section off the room. It seems they are in Her Ladyship's sitting room, though, the only thing one can sit on is a large black throne. It is, of course, reserved for the Lady of the Citadel.

Rick watches her ass as she saunters over to her throne. A sheer patch of lace at the back of her robe shows she is not wearing panties. He feels his cock quiver. She sits, smiles at him, and crosses her legs.

"Not many people are allowed here," she says. "You should thank me."

"Thank you, My Lady," he offers sincerely.

"I realize you didn't answer my question from earlier today," she states.

"Forgive me, My Lady," he replies quickly, finding this urge to please her so absolutely overwhelming.

"What did I ask you again? Oh, yes, I asked if you were trouble," she teases. "Are you trouble?"

She uncrosses her legs and Rick uses every bit of his willpower not to lower his eyes and gaze at the sweetness between her thighs. She has not given him permission; he will do what he must to keep their exchange going.

"I'm whatever you want me to be, My Lady," he replies, causing her to bless him with the brightest smile he has ever seen.

Michonne eyes Rick, and says, "Good. That pleases me."

She holds his gaze and then shifts so that her legs are parted more. His eyes do not move, even when she brings her hand to her sex and runs her fingers over her slit.

"I know you like watching me," she says. "So go ahead and look."

"Thank you, My Lady," he says in a strained voice, as his eyes find the glistening delta between her strong thighs.

Her Ladyship parts her swollen lips to reveal soft pinkness framed by her gorgeously dark skin. Rick's mouth begins to water as his cock is set hard at the tantalizing sight. She massages her hooded bud until it is coaxed from it hiding place. Then she dips two fingers inside of her delectable sex.

Rick feels his cock shudder as he watches Michonne's slender fingers disappear between her juicy folds. His hardness strains against his pants. It aches. He cannot touch it. He cannot have the Lady he desires. All he can do is watch as her sodden fingers slip in and out, causing his dick to jump; wishing it could be enveloped by Her.

She lets out a low moan and Rick almost comes in his pants.

"You like watching me?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She finger fucks herself harder.

"You like how wet I am?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She thumbs her swollen little clit and never takes her eyes off Rick.

"Do you wish you could touch me?"

"Yes, My Lady. But I'm not worthy," he replies as precum dribbles from his big red cock.

"Hmmmmm," she moans while spreading her legs wider and fingering herself harder, faster, deeper.

She is impossibly wet. Her creaminess is dripping down to the seat of the throne. She lets out another moan, and then comes. She leaves her fingers between her folds as the orgasm washes over her. Rick's manhood aches with painful delight as he can do nothing to quell the fire that is engulfing him.

Once Lady Michonne catches her breath, she removes her hand from between her legs and stands. She does well, considering her knees feel weak from her climax. She steps towards Rick who wants nothing more than for her to throw him to the floor and sit on his face.

The Mistress of the Citadel looks down at the ruggedly handsome man who is kneeling before her.

"Do you want to taste me?" she asks with a devilish grin.

"Please, My Lady," Rick manages.

"Open your mouth," she commands, and he does so.

Michonne then brings her wet fingers close to his face. She lets him smell the scent of her arousal first, before slipping them between his pink lips. Rick swirls his tongue around and tastes her. He sucks her fingers clean. When she withdraws them, she brings them to her own lips and give them onc last lick.

"Thank you, My Lady," says Rick, truly grateful for the experience.

She strokes his hair and gives him another stunning smile before returning to her throne. Once she is seated, she crosses her legs again and then asks, "So, Rick; do you want to tell me who sent you?"


	3. Chapter 3

"My Lady, the Physician Hershel sent me here," he says in way of an explanation, though it is misleading. "I was injured and he took care…"

She raises her hand to silence him, and gives him a questioning stare.

At this point in his mission, Rick has to play it safe. He knows nothing of the relationship between Her Ladyship and the Lord of the Citadel. He surmises he will need to see them together, alone. Being with Her Ladyship, belonging to her, means he just might be able to have that unfettered access to observe them.

She raises an eyebrow. She doesn't know if she should believe him. He is obviously Rick Grimes from her own lands. She recalls when he came to Court in her father's service many years ago. The Ladies of the Court took a liking to him. She did too, but she was much too young to learn of such things, merely a curious nineteen year old at the time. She recalled that he was a good fighter, and would often watch him when he fought competitively for her father, Lord Lucas.

"I am well aware of your situation," she says. "And they say you have amnesia. Is that so?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he offers, with his gaze averted. He fears if his eyes meet hers, she will see that he is being untrue. In the confines of her quarters, when it is just the two of them, Rick wants to be open to her, in every way. He can hardly explain this effect she has over him. He inhales discreetly, but deeply, and continues. "I don't remember much at all."

"That's too bad," she says, before standing again. "I bet you were an interesting man in your other life, weren't you?"

"I'm interesting now, My Lady," he dares to say.

"Yes," she replies with a smile. "I suppose you are."

…..

There is a small bathroom off to the side of Lady Michonne's personal quarters. The walls are light in color, and the heavy drapes look golden in hue. The room is lit by candles and smells of essential oils. Her Ladyship walks through the doorway and an unbound Rick follows after her. She watches as Attendants fill the bathtub with warm water and rose petals. The tub is white porcelain standing on golden lion's feet. It is a luxury that only the highest of Nobles would possess. Rick lifts his gaze to take it in a moment; Her Ladyship notices.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asks, as the Attendants scurry around. "It was a gift from His Lordship. Not the most immediate need in this world, but he does like to spoil me."

"You're worth it," Rick offers, surprising both himself, and his Lady. She holds back a smile.

"You're right about that," she says playfully, before dismissing the Attendants. She reaches a hand down to test the water. He watches as her slender fingers dance over the water's surface, brushing petals out of the way as she does so. She is so very elegant, and Rick is mesmerized by the small, inconsequential action. She turns to look at him. His eyes trail up her arm until they meet hers. She looks him up and down, biting her lip as she does. He waits eagerly, feeling his manhood twitch in his pants.

"Take off your clothing," she commands.

Rick does so immediately, remembering his training from years ago. He removes his shirt, first, before folding it neatly and placing it to the polished tile floor. Michonne smiles at his disciplined ways. Next, he steps out of his jeans, the same ones he arrived at the Citadel with, and folds them in the same manner as the shirt. He goes to remove his boxer shorts when she holds up her hand to stop him. He stands still as she steps closer and brings her fingertips to the waistband of his shorts. He steadies his breathing in anticipation while staring into her eyes.

She is unwavering and powerful, and he wants nothing more than to let her have her way with him. When she slips her hand inside of his shorts and touches his engorged cock, he holds his breath. She places her palm underneath his length and runs it back and forth slowly, not applying any pressure; not stroking him. Just pressing the soft skin of her palm to his thick, veiny shaft. It feels hot and heavy in her hand. She could very easily grip him tightly while jerking him until he comes, but she would rather tease Rick than let him find his release; at least for now.

He almost pouts when she withdraws her hand. With a smirk, Michonne step away and then turns her back on Rick. She glances over her shoulder at him and then says, "Undress me."

Without hesitation, he places his hands at her shoulders and draws the soft, smooth fabric back. His fingers lightly touch her skin as he removes the garment. He does not let it hit the floor as he unveils her statuesque form, instead, he folds it and drapes it neatly over his forearm and waits for his next instruction. Michonne is impressed with his discipline. She turns to face him, her glorious body on full display, and then brushes the back of her hand over the side of his face.

"Hang the robe, and then fetch my washcloth," she says, gesturing toward the vanity.

He does as she commands, placing the robe to a hook on the wall, and then bringing the small, square cloth to his Mistress. Rick ogles her and his erection grows harder, peeking from the opening in his shorts. He averts his gaze, and then holds out a hand for her to take. She does so, and then he helps her step into the bathtub. She slides into the warm, lavender-scented water, moaning as she does. He watches as she ties her hair up and then shifts forward a little.

"Wash me," she says, and Rick quickly squats down beside the tub.

He dips the cloth into the water, and then places it against her shoulder. He moves it around in a circular motion, before submerging it and repeating the action across her toned upper back.

"Hmmm. Keep doing that," says Lady Michonne.

He dips the cloth, and then wrings the water out on her back. The droplets run down her gloriously dark skin; she enjoys how it feels. Spurred on by her little moans of pleasure, he brings his free hand to her shoulder. He should not touch her without her permission, but she does not reprimand him, instead, she lets her head fall to the side while he massages close to her neck. All the while Rick wants to lick the droplets from her. He wants to kiss her all over. He wants to drown in her. He wants more from her, but is grateful to serve her like this for now, even if it is a means to an end.

He listens to the soft splashing that accompany her pleasured little whimpers as he runs the cloth down her arm. She is relaxed under his touch. He wonders if she is like this with all of their servants. He wonders if other men, apart from Lord John, are allowed to see her and touch her in this way. He finds an ire rising up inside; a jealousy, swirling in the pit of his stomach. He cannot stand the thought of another serving his Lady in this way. He is all too thankful for the privilege, so he forces the unwanted thoughts from his mind. He is there to complete a mission, not to jeopardize it by becoming obsessed with his Mistress; by coveting the wife of one Lord, and the daughter of another.

His train of thought is broken when Lady Michonne guides his empty hand to her chest. Instinctively, he squeezes her ample breast before causing her nipple to grow stiff. He can feel his cock dripping; he almost drops the washcloth when she covers his hand once more and guides it lower, into the water. Just then, there is a quick rapping at the door. Her Ladyship relinquishes her hold on Rick's hand, and then says, "Enter."

A tall, fair-haired girl comes through the door, carrying a tray of lotions. She does not make eye contact with Lady Michonne, but gives Rick a sympathetic look as she bustles by and places the lotions on the vanity. She offers her Mistress a nod and then leaves the same way she has entered, but does not close the door. Michonne looks to the open doorway, and is surprised to see Lord John standing there. He leans against the doorjamb and gives Rick an unimpressed glare.

"Commoner," he says to Rick. "Stand and leave us at once. Go back to the filth of your quarters."

Rick gets to his feet and scoops up his clothing; he uses the neatly folded garments to cover his protruding sex. He offers his Lord and Lady a nod, and then walks by John, who keeps his eyes locked on Michonne.

"My love," John starts. "I've had new lotions concocted for you. When you finish up here, come to my chambers."

"Yes, My Lord," she says, with a sweet smile that hides her irritation very well.

…..

After staying in the bath until the warm water turned cold, Michonne dresses with the help of an Attendant, and makes her way to her husband's quarters. She finds him drinking from a goblet of wine and staring out of the window. It is dark outside and she doubts he can see anything; she muses he must enjoy the void. He is almost always broody, and his mood is not different tonight.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now, My Lord," she says, announcing her arrival.

He finishes his drink, places the cup to the small table near the window, and then turns to admire her in the candlelight.

She sits down on his four poster bed, still dressed in the robe she was wearing when she let Rick watch her.

"Were you entertaining, my love?" he asks.

"I took a bath," she replies.

"That commoner," he says. "Was he your Attendant for this bath?"

"Yes," she answers.

Lord John disrobes until he is naked, before climbing into the bed behind Michonne. He shifts closely behind her, draws the red robe from off her shoulder and kisses the smooth skin there. She smells of lavender and tastes sweet like nectar. He bites her shoulder slightly, and then cups her breast. His hand moves slowly from her erect nipple to her flat stomach. He grips her tightly and draws her nearer to his body, before lying her down on her back. He opens her robe, exposing her freshly washed and oiled body. He leans over her and runs his callous fingers between her breasts and over her abdomen. He circles her navel, and then brushes against the small mound just below. She stares up at the ceiling and lets her body relax under his touch.

"He's a fighter, my love," says John, trailing his fingers lower until he reaches between her legs. "Not meant to tend to your grooming needs. We have handmaids for that."

Lord John shifts and hovers over Lady Michonne; he uses his knees to part her legs and is met with no resistance.

"You said he was mine," she counters, turning her head to look him in the eye. He sighs loudly, knowing there is nothing he can deny her; well, almost nothing. He then presses kisses to her collarbone and neck as he positions his erection at her entrance. Her sex is still wet from her previous liaison with the Tribute.

"I did," he replies, before kissing her lips. "And he is yours."

"But?" she asks, waiting to be penetrated by her Lord and husband.

"But," growls John as he inches himself inside of his beloved. "You're still mine."

…..

"Ahh," breathes Rick as he tugs at his impossibly hard dick in the darkness of the Pugilist Quarters. He lies on his back, hand inside of his shorts, and pulls at his stiff, throbbing sex. He muffles his moans as best he can while working his rough hand up and down his large, red cock. He pictures Lady Michonne's perfect body. He recalls how she shamelessly fingered herself in front of him. How she reduced him to a dripping, quivering mess, kneeling before her. He wishes he was kneeling before her right now, instead of stroking himself in the dark and only imagining Her.

" _Fuck,"_ he whispers to himself as he recalls the way her skin felt against his. He cups his glistening crown and rubs it hard and fast. His eyes roll shut as he strokes his length again and again, up and down, while picturing the Lady of the Citadel.

He closes his eyes tighter, working his hand faster as his chest rises and falls in rapid succession. Sweat beads at his temple, causing his curls to stick to his damp skin. He lets his head sink backwards, hanging over the edge of his cot, as he rubs his raw cock until he comes hard. A low growl escapes his lips as thick spurts of his white, hot seed shoot from his smooth tip. Some dribbles down his trembling prick; more lands on his firm abdomen. His hips buck, and his breathing is labored. He milks himself until he is finished and then wipes his hand against the coarse blanket that covers his cot. He uses his other hand to wipe the sweat from his brow as he licks his lips.

This is torture to him; wanting Her Ladyship so badly, but not being allowed to service her fully. He silently chides himself for his growing infatuation with her. He did not expect to find her in this place in such high standing. He did not expect to find her ruling the Citadel with such rigor. He hadn't really thought he would actually find her. But he did, and she is far from the young woman he remembers admiring from afar.

She is now a woman of power. A woman who knows what it is that she wants, and he knows that she wants him. That thought alone causes his cock to begin to stiffen once more. As he takes it in his hand again, he half-heartedly promises himself this will be the last time he lets the picture of her in his mind's eye distract him from his mission. After all, it is her father's money that lines his pocket, and her father's command that sent Rick to the Citadel.

He pushes fleeting thoughts of Lord Lucas away and focusses on Lady Michonne. For this brief moment in the dark, he will let his lust for her consume him, but in the morning, he must resume his mission. He must find a way to observe the Lord and Lady together. He must discern if she has stayed at the Citadel by choice, or if His Lordship has coerced her. What he needs to discover about their relationship will inform him of his next move. If she is being held against her will, she has not shown it to him. If she remained, of her own volition, at the Citadel after her residency as a Tribute, he will need to deliver that hard truth to his employer, her father. If she is being held captive, he will need to do what he has been paid to do: He must kill Lord John.

…..

Michonne's pussy begins to pulse as Lord John drives himself deeper between her folds. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist as he pounds her harder and harder, causing her to lose all composure.

" _Oh, god,"_ she cries out, as she digs her nails roughly into his shoulder blades, and drags them down his back, drawing blood. She tightens her walls around him and then comes hard for the first time in a long time. All the while, as her husband fucked her, Lady Michonne pictured Rick.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of nails being hammered into wood is persistent; a steady thrumming that resembles the passing of time being marked by a ticking clock. Rick doesn't know how much time has passed since he and the other Tributes began work on fortifying the Arena. They started when the sun was just crawling into the sky. He helped to carry the large planks of wood from the carts to the inside of the Arena. It is walled by reinforced steel, and the stands are made from wood. Summer storms have damaged some of the seating area, so the fighters are tasked with repairs.

Rick and Maggie are now nailing the last of their planks in place. Morgan came by a few times to admire their handiwork; he is a good man, Rick figures. The sun is high in the sky, so they know that a break is near. Rick's arms ache and he is drenched in sweat; his young friend is much the same.

"You headin' up to get some food?" asks Maggie as she wipes away the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her too-big shirt.

"Yeah," Rick replies. "I'll clear this lot away first. You?"

"Yep. You know it. Gonna head on up there right now," she answers, almost too eagerly. Rick wonders why she is enthusiastic to eat. He brushes his curiosity aside.

"Alright," he offers. "I'll see back at the training grounds later."

He watches his friend make her hasty retreat, and then begins to pack away the tools they were using. Once all of the implements are safely stored in their containers, Rick decides to amble over to the water tank in hopes of catching a glimpse of Her Ladyship. The warmth of the sun does not serve as a deterrent after the backbreaking work he has completed. Somehow, the mere thought of casting his eyes on the stunning Lady of the Citadel invigorates him.

Rick spots her in the private training area before he reaches the tank. Immediately, his body responds to seeing her; a smile spreads across his dry lips and his manhood twitches. He keeps his gaze locked on her as she goes through the motions of training the younglings.

"Raise your blades!" she commands, and the young people do so. "One-two-three-swing!"

The sound of the blades cutting through the air in unison, coupled with their seemingly improved technique, causes the Lady to smile. Rick fills his cup and continues to observe their session.

"Again," Michonne calls out. "One-two-three-swing!"

Their perfectly timed strikes are even better than their first. Rick is impressed with their skills, as well as with Lady Michonne's tutelage. He is certain she is very persuasive, with a firm hand. His thoughts wander to more devious imaginings as he briefly muses about just how firm her hands can be.

Being a keen warrior, she feels when she is being watched. She notices Rick standing off in the distance, and is drawn to him. She quints in his direction while giving her next instructions.

"Patrick," she calls to one of the teens. "Take half of the group to the back of the grounds to work on their parrying. Missy, keep the rest here to practice their slashing. I will be back in a minute."

With that, she fixes her sword to her back and strides in Rick's direction. He watches until she is close, and then averts his gaze.

"Kneel," she demands, and Rick drops to one knee immediately. "You do know ogling me while I train is a punishable offence?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"Yet you do it so brazenly."

"Your Ladyship, you told me you liked when I watch."

"You will be quiet," she says, thinking he is a rather cheeky. She isn't really offended by his staring; she does quite enjoy it. "Like I said, this is a punishable offence, and I would very much like to punish you. I'll let the guards know that you're to be brought to my playroom after training. You will wait for me to come to you. You will be ready. Is that clear?"

"Yes, My Lady. Thank you, My Lady."

…..

The playroom is separate from the main house. It is located in a small brick structure down one of the garden paths. The walls are a dark grey; the windows covered with red velvet. Many apparatuses furnish the space. Rick recognizes a vault horse; bondage swing; and a throne chair. He looks at them as he waits for his Mistress.

Rick is naked and kneeling on the floor in the center of the room near one device, known as a Saint Andrew's cross. It resembles a large X. It is made of dark wood and capable of reclining thanks to an intricate lever system Lord John had fitted for his beloved. Black leather straps are fixed to the cross in strategic places. Its main purpose is to hold a submissive in place while their betters have their way. His dick quivers when he thinks of being tied to the cross while Lady Michonne does what she wants.

His gaze falls on one of the walls next. Fixed to it is a shelf full of various instruments of erotic torture. Crops; paddles; candles; shackles; switches; phalluses; clamps; and other items stand on the wooden plane. On the next shelf sits Wartenberg pinwheels; urethral sounding tools; cotton swabs; needles; and other medical contraptions.

On the other wall, there are various leather collars and leashes hanging beside more whips and chains. Rick finds himself growing harder as his anticipation heightens. He does not know how long he has been kneeling in this delightfully terrifying room, but he hopes his Mistress will soon join him.

…..

The heavy, wooden door creaks as it opens. Rick remains still, not daring to look. When no one enters, he chances a glance to the doorway. Immediately, he hears Her Ladyship's tut-tuts that show her disapproval.

"I didn't say you could move, Tribute," she says, before stepping into the room. Her black, knee-high boots click against the cold floor. She steps in front of Rick and looks down at him. Not wanting to displease her further, he keeps staring straight ahead. He notices she is wearing a very short, formfitting black dress that shows off her long legs. Her waist is cinched with a black leather corset which pushes her breasts up high. Her hair is pulled away from her face in a ponytail. He wants so badly to reach out and touch her, but thinks the better of it. He keeps his gaze even and looking forward.

Lady Michonne takes hold of his hair and pulls it back so that he is forced to look up at her. She takes her free hand and cups Rick's face. She runs her fingers over his full lips, and then brings them to his neck. She offers him a small smile and then proceeds to wrap her fingers around his throat, applying enough pressure to the sides to slow the blood flow to his brain. Rick immediately feels lightheaded and his cock twitches.

Lady Michonne releases her hold on his curls, but then tightens her grip on his throat as she says, "Get to your feet."

Rick does as he is told. Their height difference is noticeable as he stands before her, with her strong, yet slender fingers still around his thick neck. She pushes him backward a little, moving him in the direction of the cross. Their eyes remain locked on one another; Rick keeps his arms at his sides and lets her handle him in a way that no one else has in some time. Suddenly, she stops pushing, and relinquishes her hold on his throat. She remains close, gestures toward the cross, and then says, "Get in position."

…..

Leather straps hold Rick in place on the cross. They are fixed to his ankles, thighs, arms, and wrists. His legs are spread, and his arms are raised above his head. He is gagged and naked. His big, thick cock is standing defiantly at attention. Michonne takes him in; her eyes roam all over his body. She steps close to him and runs her finger over his many scars. He is a warrior, always has been. She remembers how he would fight for glory in her father's Arena. That was so long ago now, back when she was a timid young girl.

She isn't timid anymore. Using her finger nails, she scratches his chest. It leaves a red mark on his already flushed skin. She smiles to herself and then brings the same fingers to his nipple. She thumbs it until it grows stiff, and then pinches it. Rick lets out a muffled moan, and she stares into his eyes. She pinches again, rougher this time, and his eyes close a moment. This causes Her Ladyship to smile once more. She thumbs his erect nipple again, before leaning down and bringing her mouth close to the little pink bud. Using her tongue, she licks it, before sucking it into her mouth. She hears Rick moan as he squirms a little.

"You like that, don't you?" she asks, before repeating the action and then ripping the gag from his mouth.

Her Ladyship then turns her attention to the other nipple. She rubs it and pinches it, and Rick moans. She feels her pussy begin to drip at the sound of his throaty growl. She stares at his face as she pulls the nipple while pinching it between her finger and thumb. Rick's tongue slips from his mouth. Next, she dips her head to swirl her tongue over the inflamed little pebble before sucking it between her teeth and biting it.

"Ahhhh," Rick cries out, and his dick jerks on its own.

Lady Michonne licks his nipple one more time and then peppers kisses up his chest to his neck. She takes hold of his prick and strokes it a few times. She brushes his curls behind his ear, and then whispers, "You're a noisy one, aren't you?"

He makes no reply, so she grips his dick tighter and commands, "You will answer me."

Rick's head is spinning from her proximity and the feeling of her hand squeezing his manhood.

"Yes, My Lady, I'm noisy," he manages. This pleases her, so she strokes his cock some more, causing his breathing to grow heavy and his mouth to open in the shape of an O.

"Good," she replies, as she stops her ministrations. "No one can hear us in here so we can be as loud as we like."

…..

"Hmmmmm," Michonne moans loudly as she rolls her hips. She is squatting over Rick's face with her legs wide open, while he is strapped to the now reclined cross. She rubs her pussy down his aquiline nose and back to his mouth. His tongue laps at her sweet center and she rubs her clit.

Rick drinks her as he stiffens his tongue and plunges it deep onside her opening. She reaches down and grabs his hair with both hands as she rides his face. He sucks her clit into his lips and she moans once more. His cock trembles at the sounds she is making; it drips from the dominion she holds over him. He can do nothing to relieve himself as she fucks his face.

"Suck it harder," she demands as she feels her climax approaching. "Hmmm you've got such a good mouth."

Rick obliges as he licks and sucks at her sensitive little nub harder and faster.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes as he quickens his pace. " _Fuck_."

Soon thereafter, Lady Michonne cries out loudly and then comes in her Tribute's mouth. He captures all of her juices, not spilling one drop. Overstimulated and excited, while still bound to the cross, Rick's cock explodes in orgasm before his sated, panting Lady can even catch her breath.

…..

"You're late," says Morgan as he sits by the small fire near the outside area of the Pugilist Quarters.

"Sorry," says Rick. "I was tied up."

"Bet you were," Morgan replies, before holding out a cup. "Here, have one drink with me."

"Thanks," says Rick, taking the cup and sipping from it. The wine goes down nicely. "I really don't mean to disrespect what you've got here. I know you're in charge of us…"

Morgan waves his hand and says, "Nah, don't mention it. I know how things are around here. No matter what rules I have in place, there's always someone with more power than me who's gonna say otherwise. Just be happy it's Her Ladyship."

Rick feels his face grow warm. He did not realize that anyone other than her Attendants and sentries knew he was a new plaything of Hers. He recovers and then surmises he can use this opportunity to get more information.

"Yeah, well, I respect what you have to do, so I am sorry for comin' back late," he says.

"It's fine, Rick," Morgan offers while sipping from his drink. "I've been here long enough to know how that shit goes."

"How long?"

"Let's see; twenty years or so," says Morgan.

"No shit?"

"Yeah."

"Lord John that good of a Master, eh?"

"He's…adequate," says Morgan, and both men share a chuckle.

"And Her Ladyship?"

"I don't know," says Morgan. "He keeps her all to himself, for the most part."

"So, she doesn't usually mingle with the help?"

"Not that I know of," he offers. "But you've been spending more time with her than you have with us training, so maybe you know better than I do."

"I don't know much."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can. Lord John's not the most sharing and caring man."

"You sure about that?"

"Positive," says Morgan as he pours another drink. "I came here with him."

"Wasn't his father Lord before him?"

"God, no," says Morgan, almost spitting his drink out. "Lord John came here as a young man of twenty-five and put a blade right through the heart of the other Lord of the Citadel. Most don't remember that."

"So, he stole the power?"

"That's one way of puttin' it."

"And Her Ladyship? Did he steal her, too?"

"You should be careful about talkin' like that. His Lordship has ears everywhere."

"Right," says Rick. "So, Lady Michonne? When did she get here?"

"She came here as a Tribute about fifteen years ago. Prettiest little thing I've seen in a dog's age. Feisty. Good with a sword. She wanted to fight, if I recall correctly. Lord John didn't want that. Took a real liking to her. Guess he fell in love with her. It happens."

"Does she love him?" Rick finds himself asking, though it has nothing to do with gathering information. He is genuinely curious.

"I like you, Rick. I do. But you shouldn't be sticking your nose where it ain't wanted. Lady Michonne likes you, so enjoy it while it lasts because Lord John won't tolerate this little thing y'all have got going on for too much longer. He's killed men for a lot less. Serve his wife until she's satisfied, but don't go gettin' caught up. We should retire for the night. There's more work to do tomorrow before His Lordship's birthday comes around."

Rick nods his head and finishes his drink. He has learned a few things, mostly that she must live a lonely existence, but has more questions that need answering. When the Lady of the Citadel, _if_ the Lady of the Citadel calls on him again, he will need to change his approach and gain her trust. He licks his lips, still tasting hints of her nectar with the wine, and silently hopes she will be willing to open herself up to him in a different way.


	5. Chapter 5

It is in the morning, just after breakfast and Rick and Maggie are practising at the training grounds with the other fighters. The young woman is improving with every day that passes. The two trade blows with the wooden swords, and Rick is certain she will be able to carry herself well in the newly fortified Arena.

It has been a week since Rick has been with Lady Michonne in her playroom, or anywhere, for that matter. He has not even seen her in passing, and all of his trips to the water tank have proven to be fruitless. His Lady has not been seen. There is a craving and longing deep inside of him that has persisted ever since she tied him to that cross and let him taste her. He has spent his time training, working, and thinking of the Lady of the Citadel. He thinks back to what he learned from Morgan: Lord John, it seems, does not like sharing her. He hopes the Usurper has not stopped her from enjoying her dalliances with her Tribute.

Distracted by thoughts of Lady Michonne, Rick drops his guard a moment and Maggie's wooden weapon strikes and lands at the side of his face. The blow causes him to stumble slightly.

"Oh my god, Rick!" says Maggie, rushing to check on him. "I'm so sorry."

Rick places a hand to his jaw and clenches his eyes shut. She steps closer and says, "Let me see."

"It's okay," he finally replies while rubbing it. "I should've been payin' better attention."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'll be fine. You're pretty handy with that sword, Maggie. You're gonna do well in the Arena."

She offers him a smile and says, "You think so?"

"I know so," says Rick with a grin, as he places a hand to her shoulder. "You're gonna make your father proud."

Suddenly, there is a sharp whistle and Morgan calls out, "The Lord and Lady of the Citadel are present!"

Rick, Maggie, and the others swiftly turn to face their betters, hold their swords across their chests, and take a knee. Rick's eyes meet Lady Michonne's briefly, before he averts his gaze. She stands back as Lord John steps forward. He is stern looking, and says nothing for a beat, before he addresses his Trainer.

"How are they shaping up, Morgan?"

"Well, Lord John," he replies. "You've got some fine fighters here."

His Lordship ambles over to them, weaving around the kneeling Tributes. He takes them in, noting that they are already sweating under the morning sun. He looks pleased. When he reaches Rick and Maggie, he stands behind them and then speaks to Morgan once more.

"The girl," he starts. "Is she keeping up with the others?"

"Yes, Sir," says Morgan. "She's a hard worker. Strong. A good fighter."

"Excellent," Lord John replies. "And the injured commoner? How is he faring?"

"He's faring well," says Morgan. "He's strong, too."

Lord John glances to his wife, who is now looking at Rick. He clenches his jaw, and then steps in front of his kneeling fighters.

"Commoner, get to your feet," he commands, and Rick does so; His Lordship towers over his subject. "My Love, would you like to see an exhibition?"

He keeps his gaze on Rick while he waits for Lady Michonne to answer.

"Yes, My Lord," she replies as she watches her husband and her Tribute.

"Great," says John, as he steps back from Rick and then speaks to Morgan.

"Hand the commoner your sword," he says, and Morgan looks slightly confused, but does as he is told.

He unsheathes his weapon and approaches Rick. He hands him the sword, takes the wooden one from him, and then returns to his spot. The heavy weight of the steel feels different to Rick after training with only the wooden sword for some time now. How easy, he muses, it would be to lunge forward and slash the sleek blade across the Usurper's throat. His fingers twitch and he supresses a wry smile. Instead of completing his mission right then and there, Rick holds the sword at his side and waits for Lord John to give his next instruction.

"Clear the training ground," says John and the fighters do as they are told, leaving Rick standing there.

John unsheathes his own weapon, and then turns his head to his wife, before saying, "Would you like to test him, My Love?"

He holds the handle out to Lady Michonne. She glances at Rick and then takes the blade from her husband. Slowly, she saunters over to her opponent and then takes up a ready stance by grasping the weapon with both hands and raising it to her right. Rick lifts his and holds it out front but crossing his body. Without warning, Michonne swings her blade. The clanging of the metal rings out loud as the swords clash. Rick parries her strikes as they begin a dangerous dance.

Lady Michonne uses backhand strikes, overhead swings, and then twirls like a ballerina as she lands her blows. Rick's moves are all defensive. Not once does he strike at his Lady. She is fast and agile, and if not for the week of intensive training, Rick is not sure he would be able to keep up with her assaults. He is able to parry each hit, but Michonne has gotten the better of him. Their blades clash again, and she keeps hers pressed against his. Her strength is phenomenal, and she uses it to inch Rick's blade closer and closer to his face. Struggling, he pushes hers back, causing her to stumble a little. She is not impressed, and swings her weapon with fervor, putting him back on the defensive once more.

Their swords lock together for a second time, and before Rick can push her from him again, she raises her foot and kicks him in the stomach. He is winded from the blow, and falls to the ground, landing on his back; the weapon drops from his grasp. Quickly, Michonne stands over him, a boot at each side of his waist, and then points the tip of the sword just under his chin. She holds his gaze and sees fire and craving in his eyes. She feels a throbbing set in between her legs. She wants nothing more than to lower herself to his swollen pink lips so that he might relieve the pulsing of her pussy with his slick tongue. They remain that way, him lying at her feet, and her pressing the sharp blade to his flesh, for a moment too long.

"Enough!" says Lord John, irritated by the heat that seems to be radiating from his wife and his subject. Annoyed by the fact that everyone on the training ground sees it, too.

Lady Michonne offers Rick a devilish smile, and then steps away from him. She walks back over to her husband and hands him his weapon. He sheathes it, and then places a possessive arm around her waist.

"How was he?" asks John as he glares at Rick, who has now clambered to his feet.

"He was fine," she replies. "I'm pleased with his performance."

"He didn't look very pleasing," John snorts.

"I have to disagree, My Lord," says Michonne. "I quite like him on his back."

…..

The afternoon sun is warm on Lady Michonne's glistening skin. She paces around the private training grounds and watches her young students finish the day with a match. A young girl, Amelia is doing battle with a boy of the same age, Roger. Michonne watches them with pride as they go through the moves that she has taught them. After a moment of equal attacking and parrying, their Mistress claps her hands and brings the bout to an end.

"Nicely, done," she praises. "You're getting better each and every day. I'm very proud of you both. I am proud of you all."

"Thank, you, Lady Michonne," the students say in unison.

"Okay," she says, clasping her hands together. "Let's get everything packed away."

"My Lady," says Roger. "Is it true you bested one of the fighters today?"

Michonne raises an eyebrow in the boy's direction.

"Where did you hear that?" she asks.

"Everyone is talking about it, My Lady," the child answers.

"It was merely an exhibition," she says. "He was probably taking it easy on me; holding back. Something none of you should ever do."

"Doubtful," says Patrick. "You're the best warrior here, My Lady."

"I know," Michonne replies with a smile. "But remember what I said: Don't hold back. No matter what your station in life is; no matter who your opponent is. When you step out to do battle, give it your all. Okay?"

"Okay," a few of the youngsters reply, while others nod their heads.

"All right," says Michonne, redirecting their attention. "Let's finish up now. Missy, a word, please."

The teen approaches the Lady of the Citadel and waits expectantly.

"Did you tell the others about me beating the Tribute this morning?" asks Michonne in hushed tones.

"Why would you think it was me, My Lady?" she asks.

"Missy," she says, while raising her eyebrow.

"Fine, it was me," says the youngster, throwing up her hands.

"Your father wouldn't like it," says Michonne. "He wouldn't like you talking to the other children about things he's mentioned to you in private. He would consider it gossip, and you know he doesn't like gossip."

"It wasn't about him, though," she replies. "It was about you."

"That's true, but it's good practice for you to know your place," says Michonne. "One day you will be Lady of the Citadel. Idle chit chat is unbecoming; your father would disapprove."

"They're my friends," says the teen. "Why can't we talk about you kicking some Tribute's ass?"

"Language."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," she replies. "My father's rules are silly."

Michonne sighs. The child is stubborn, and questions Lord John's authority. He already limits their time together, if he thought she shared any of her mother's rebelliousness, he would keep them apart forever.

"His rules are the law, My Love," says Michonne, as she smooths Missy's hair down. "And you have to be a good girl, or he won't let me see you as much. So, please; no more gossip, okay?"

The girl shrugs her shoulders, tired of the barriers the Lord of the Citadel has placed between them. But she knows that Michonne is right. The have to abide by his rules, at least for the time being. Missy offers a small smile and then says, "Okay, Mommy."

…..

"Your chainmail is filthy," says Michonne, as she examines the garment hanging on the wall of Lord John's chambers. "Where are your Attendants?"

"I gave the boy Glenn the night off," he replies, while pulling a dark red tunic over his battle-scarred form. "I have a late council meeting to attend, it could take some time."

She ambles over to the small table in the corner of his room, and pours herself some wine. She sips from the glass. Lord John watches her. He makes his way over to his wife, and takes the glass from her hands and drinks from it himself.

"I wish I didn't have to go to the meeting," he whispers. "I'd much rather stay here with you."

She takes the cup back from him and finishes the contents, before saying, "Duty before pleasure."

"Yes," he replies. "But your duty is to please me."

Michonne gives a slight nod of her head, and decides to change the subject of their conversation.

"Today was a good day," she offers. "Thank you for letting Missy come to lunch with us."

Lady Michonne reaches out a hand and places it to his forearm. He covers her hand with his.

"It was a real treat to see her twice in one day," she adds. "We haven't had that extra time in so long."

"I thought having more time with our daughter would help you to feel better after being ill this past week, My Love," he offers. She wonders why his eyes only ever appear cold, even when he speaks of love and family.

"It did," she says. "She always makes me so happy."

"And you make me happy," he says, stroking the side of her face. There's no warmth to his eyes, and even now, after all of these years, it sends a chill up her spine. "But I am late for the meeting. Will you return to my chambers later?"

"No, My Lord," she offers. "I thought I might retire early tonight. I'm feeling better, but shouldn't overdo it too much."

"Of course," he says, looking disappointed, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and walking her to the door.

…..

Michonne sits on her bed with one leg crossed over the other. The sheer black negligée she is wearing does little to stave off the uncommon chill of the night air. Her drapes are open, and she can see into her sitting room. There comes a rapping at her door. She stands, and calls out, "Enter."

The door swings open, and the Tribute, Rick, steps inside. He says nothing as he takes a knee in front of her. She is pleased with his obedience. She walks around him, and then locks them both inside of the room. She brushes her fingers over his curls as she passes by, and sits on her throne.

"Take your clothes off," she commands. Rick does as he is told. He strips down, and folds his discarded items neatly, placing them to the floor. Michonne is ever impressed by him. From his obedience to his physical appearance. He ignites this flame inside of her; she cannot explain it. She is drawn to him.

"Go to the bed and lie on your back," she instructs, and he does so immediately.

His manhood twitches from anticipation; he can feel himself growing hard. She follows him. Her eyes roam over his naked form, resting on his cock. She smiles and licks her lip, before retrieving something from the table next to her bed: It is a long strip of leather. She wraps it around her hand before smiling down at Rick once more.

"I missed you this week," she says, while trailing her fingers over his chest. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes, My Lady."

She loops the strip of leather through his cuffs, then threads it through the fixtures attached to her bed posts.

"How badly?" she asks, while pulling the leather tightly, effectively tethering him to the bed.

"I thought I might die because I missed you so much, Mistress," he offers dramatically, but sincerely. It has been torture to be without her touch and her taste.

She straddles his lap and looks down at him, while running her soft palms over the rise of his chest. She can feel his dick growing stiffer against her ass. She rolls her hips against him, and he lets out a moan. She is already wet; her panties are already drenched, so she slides them to the side before shifting so that his erection is now resting against her inner thigh.

"What did you miss the most?" she teases, before placing her dripping slit to his shaft and rubbing it against his entire length. She rolls her hips and slides her sopping pussy back and forth against his shaft. Her juices coat his thick cock and she has not even let him enter her yet.

"Hmmm, everything, My Lady," he breathes; he is losing his mind.

Her swollen lips feel amazing. The perfect juxtaposition. She is warm and soft and wet; her pinkness framed prettily by her dark, smooth skin. She is in charge. He is at her mercy; rock hard and throbbing. The purple-blue veins protruding from his big red cock. Precum drizzles from his tip and drips on his stomach, mingling with her arousal. He cannot touch her, for his hands are bound; all he can do is _feel_ her as she slides her glorious sex against his.

She digs her nails into his flesh as she moves faster. She stares into his eyes as she pleasures herself against his straining prick. She rubs her clit up over the head of his manhood and then slides back down. His cock wants to stand up defiantly, but she continues grinding against it, trapping it between her pussy and his abdomen.

"Hmmmm," she moans as she rolls her hips faster.

" _Please_ ," Rick begs.

"Shhh," she replies, placing her hand over his mouth and grinding harder. Her pussy drenches his aching cock when she finally comes all over him. She rides out her orgasm by keeping his length locked between her pulsing, engorged lips as she fights to catch her breath. Her hands slide from his mouth to his throat as she slides against him again.

"Come for me," she says as she tightens her grip on his throat and rubs her soaking, sated womanhood against him. She chases her second climax of the evening, and wants to bring the Tribute to his first.

Rick's eyes close as he is brought nearer to finding his release. He has held on for long enough, wanting to extend their time together; wanting to last for her. And he has done well to, right up until the Lady of the Citadel leans down and presses her lips to his. Right then, he loses all composure and comes; his quivering dick shoots a steady stream of his hot, white seed over his stomach and up to his chest. Lady Michonne lets go of his neck and watches as he comes all over himself. His cock twitches under her weight as she comes a second time.

They are both covered in sweat and panting heavily. Lady Michonne looks down at a red-faced Rick and uses her finger to wipe some of his semen from his skin.

"We've made quite a mess," she says, before placing the finger into his mouth. He sucks and licks it clean. She withdraws it and brings it to her own lips, moaning as she does.

"Please, My Lady," he begs. "Let me taste you, again."

A pleased smile plays on her features as raises herself from off of her Tribute, and then sits on his come-stained chest. She parts her sticky thighs and spreads her pussy lips near his mouth. Rick begins to salivate as he is met with the scent of her arousal.

"Go ahead," she says. "You've earned another taste."

…..

Michonne steps out of the bathtub and Rick wraps her in a towel. He lets his fingers linger on her smooth skin a moment too long. She does not chastise him for it, instead, she regards him. He is as handsome as she recalls in her youth. Though his hair is longer, and peppered with greys, and his features are more mature, he is still good looking. He steps back and waits for her next instruction. His body, still warm from their tryst earlier in the evening.

"Today, during our swordplay," she starts. "You were holding back, were you not?"

He thinks of lying to her, but the poise of her gaze bores into his soul and coaxes the truth from him.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Why?"

"I didn't mean to cause offense, My Lady."

"I'm not offended," she replies. "I want to know why."

He sighs, but continues.

"I didn't want to harm you accidentally," rick admits.

"I can defend myself," she offers. "I don't need anyone doing me any favors. Do you understand?"

"I understand, My Lady."

"Whatever it is, whether we're engaging in swordplay," she says. "Or if we're playing in _other_ ways, I don't want you to hold back. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," says Rick, as he chances a look at her. "I'm sorry. May I speak freely a moment?"

She stares at him, and then allows his request.

"Go ahead."

"How did Your Ladyship know I was holding back?" he asks.

She considers what her answer would mean. She wonders if she can trust him; she has trusted him with her carnal needs so far, she muses, maybe she can trust him with more. She has faith in her instincts, and they are telling her that she can.

"I've seen you fight before, when you were in service of my father," she admits, and his eyes grow wide.

This is his moment to get her to open up to him. He considers his response. He has wasted a week. He needs to move his mission forward. This is how he can do it; it has to be. He raises his eyes to meet hers, the powerful beautiful woman before him. The woman whom he is there to get answers from. The woman he was sent for. She holds his gaze, and he knows that he can no longer deny her answers. He takes a deep breath, and then speaks.

"Your father is a good man, My Lady," Rick replies. She feels relief wash over her.

"So, you do remember?"

"I do," says Rick. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away."

"Why are you here?" she asks.

"For you, My Lady," he explains. "Your father sent me to find you; to bring you home."


	6. Chapter 6

_Seventeen Years Ago_

With her posture straight, and her face calm, Michonne sits in front of the mirror. Her Attendant places the finishing touches to her hair; fine pins decorate her elaborate up-do. She smells of jasmine; her lips are painted with a deep crimson that matches her dress. She smiles at her Attendant and thanks them. They are flattered by her kind ways.

"You're ready, my Lady," the Attendant says as they step back.

Michonne stands gracefully and looks at herself in the mirror. She is regal in her gown; sure to turn a few heads at the Festival of Liberalia. It is the first dinner she will have ever attended, now that she is well past her nineteenth birthday. She is not sure what will happen, but is a little nervous, and a little excited. It is the event where the new Tributes will arrive at Court. She will only be allowed to stay for the Procession and the meal, and will have to retire to her quarters when the evening is truly underway, and that is all right by her. She is content with not knowing such things until she herself is a Tribute in some other Fiefdom; she still has a couple of years before she meets that fate.

Michonne, now dressed and made-up, goes to her sitting room, and waits until there is a soft rapping at her door.

"Enter," she calls out, and the door creaks open.

Standing there is her friend, and escort for the evening, Aaron; they share an easy, amicable smile. He waits patiently for his Lady to approach before holding his arm out for her to take. She does so, and the pair make their way to the Great Hall for the Procession of Tributes.

…..

Michonne does not know which way to look. There are a number of young men and women paraded before her father, Lord Lucas. Each as naked as the day they were born, and shackled together by the ankles. They move slowly around the Hall, and come to stop in front of the long table that sits at the front of the room. Each Tribute stands there, with their eyes downcast, and waits for their new Lord to speak. Michonne takes note that they are all shapes, sizes, and colors; all striking and beautiful in their own way. Coyly, at first, she takes them in; then, realizing that they understand their place and situation, she stares.

None of the Tributes dare to raise their gaze as her father speaks to them. He notes that it is a small group this year, and that Tributes will be expected to undertake a wide variety of duties. He comments on their bodies, and what they might be suited to. He does not shift from his seated position behind the table to examine them; Michonne assumes he will wait for her to leave the party before anything physical occurs, as he has always shielded her from such things.

"Daughter," he says, turning his head to her. "What do you think of this year's Tributes?"

Michonne clears her throat. She had not expected to give voice to an opinion at these proceedings and is somewhat surprised. She straightens her posture, and gifts her father with a small smile.

"They're wonderful," she says in earnest. "They will serve you well, Father."

He nods his head, happy that she has remembered all of her courtly training regarding how a Lady must behave at public events.

"They all look so strong and beautiful," she adds, her eyes roaming over them.

The Tributes seem pleased with the young Lady's assessment of them. One Tribute in particular is drawn to the cadence of her rich voice. He cannot help himself, and lifts his head ever so slightly so that he might gaze upon her. She notices the action, and her eyes of obsidian meet piercing sapphire ones. For a moment, it is as if time has frozen them in place. The curly-headed boy does not look away; he watches the young Lady as she regards him and wonders who he is.

…..

Richard Arthur of House Grimes forgets about his training in this moment. All of the lessons that led up to the moment when he would be presented at Court as a Tribute fall away when he lays eyes on Lord Lucas' daughter. He has heard rumours that the girl was a natural beauty, but to see her for himself takes the wind from his lungs. She is stunning, in her crimson dress, and with her hair piled up high.

She sits beside her father holding the young man's gaze. The intensity of her stare causes him to suddenly feel very vulnerable. His rigid sex quivers slightly in excitement; he forgets that it was being lapped at by a young women mere minutes ago. If he had just known how enticing the Lord's daughter was, he would have needed no such encouragement to maintain his erection.

"You!" Lord Lucas interjects, pointing in his direction. "Avert your gaze from my daughter."

Rick drops his head quickly after being caught staring at the lovely young Lady.

"She is here as a guest of honor," Lord Lucas continues. "Not for the pleasure of anyone. Tribute and Courtiers alike will do well to remember that. Guards, unshackle this insolent Tribute and tether him to the wall; his eyes are to be covered."

Immediately, a guard steps forward and releases Rick. They manhandle him and then drag him to the wall. There are a number of chains and cuffs fixed to it. His arms are raised, and his wrists locked inside the steel cuffs. Many of the Courtiers jeer and laugh as a blindfold is placed over his eyes.

Michonne watches the ordeal, and wonders what power she must have, just being the Lady of the House. Power she has not exercised on her own. Power enough that having a Tribute, a Vassal, even look at her is a punishable offence. Her eyes fall on the unfortunate Tribute as he leans his muscular back against the wall. She lets her gaze roam down his firm body. His muscles flex as he shifts about. She ogles him until she drops her eyes to find his large, protruding member. It springs back and forth as the poor wretch finds his balance. Her skin grows warm and a pulsing sets in between her thighs.

She is aroused by the sight of the young man bound and blindfolded. She reaches for her glass of wine and empties it. The sweet liquid doing little to cool her skin or quench her thirst. She clears her throat once more and then turns to Lord Lucas.

"Father," she begins. "May I take my meal in my quarters?"

"Are you feeling well, my child?"

"It's too much excitement for me to stand," she offers. "And I've got a small headache."

"Very well," he says with a soothing smile. "You're excused. I'll send an Attendant with your dinner directly."

With that, Michonne stands and leaves the Great Hall. Her maid follows behind her until they reach her rooms; once inside, the Attendant helps her to disrobe and change into her sleeping attire. Soon thereafter, another Attendant knocks on her door, presumably with her food.

"Bring it in, leave it on the table, and then you're excused for the night," Michonne says, and the maid does as she is told.

Once Michonne is alone, she locks her door, ignores her food, and goes straight to her bed. She cannot get the image of the Tribute out of her mind. She climbs under her covers, extinguishes her lamp, and then sighs loudly. The pulsing in between her legs grows stronger. She closes her eyes tightly, and slips her hand into her damp panties, all the while she pictures the blue-eyed Tribute shackled to the wall.

…..

_Fifteen Years Ago_

The Councillors and other advisors go through the letters of request from the other Lords and Ladies of other lands. They offer up their best proposals, each knowing that Lord Lucas' daughter to be a rumored beauty who was well-trained with a sword. She was a prize, without a doubt, and having her as a Tribute ensured that the Lord's army would not invade. The young Lady Michonne is a strategic move.

Geoffrey, the Man of Letters, reads out a list of potential Lords and Ladies.

"Lord Seamus has sent two proposals," says Geoffrey. "He is well-to-do and a most hospitable host."

"Seamus' walls are weak and were breached a mere two summers ago," says Lucas. "I cannot leave my daughter in the care of a Lord who does not take better security measures."

"Here, here," agreed many around the table.

"What about Lady Ann?"

"She's a most cruel creature," Lucas replies. "I will not have my daughter under the tutelage of a cruel Mistress."

"Lord Siegfried?"

"For goodness sake," says Lucas. "He is an old man. She should find some enjoyment from her stay; there must be someone younger."

"We've received a proposal from the Citadel," says Geoffrey. "From the young Usurper."

"The one who killed Lord Eoin?" asks Lucas.

"The very same," replies Geoffrey.

"What is his name, this Usurper?"

"He is John, Lord of the Citadel."

"He took that right," says one of the other Councillors.

"He is no Lord," says another.

"Is he of noble blood?" asks Lord Lucas. "Or a merely a Slayer of Lords?"

"I heard he was a vile commoner who murdered Lord Eoin and seized his seat of power," someone comments.

"Let me see his documentation," says Lucas, as Geoffrey rifles through it.

"Ah, interesting," Geoffrey offers.

"Well, what is it?"

"His pedigree shows he is the bastard of the late Lord Eoin."

"Born from a Tribute?" asks Lord Lucas.

"Indeed," replies Geoffrey.

"And raised at Court in the Citadel?"

"No, my Lord," says Geoffrey, as his eyes scan the paperwork. "Raised in an outlying village. His father didn't keep him at Court but instead let him return with the young mother, a Tribute of House Porter."

"Eoin neglected his offspring," Lucas says. "The boy was rightfully his to keep, or does the Citadel not follow the Greater Laws of the Lands?"

"They do, my Lord," Geoffrey explains. "They know that a child born to a Tribute while in residency belongs to the Lord of the land. By right, the Citadel belongs to this young Lord. He is, after all, heir to the seat of power."

"Did he inherit a large army, as well?"

"Not necessarily large," says Geoffrey. "But highly trained. His fighters often do well in tourneys, both at home and abroad."

"And their infrastructure?"

"They claim the Citadel is impenetrable."

"So my daughter would be safe there? Safe from marauders who might try to attack?"

"Yes, Lord Lucas," replies Geoffrey. "She will be quite safe."

Lucas considers the prospect a moment as he reads through Lord John's proposal for himself. He wants his daughter to find some pleasure in her servitude; this Usurper is close to her age. He is strong, and cunning enough to overthrow his father and maintain a steady, certain Lordship over his Vassals. He seems like he may be a good fit. After mulling over the idea a beat longer, Lord Lucas comes to his final, albeit hasty, decision.

"Then so it is," he offers. "My daughter will spend her twelve month residency with the young Lord John until she either chooses to remain in his service, or return to her home. Send a response to Lord John and tell him I will accept his proposal. Have my daughter's terms drawn up. I will inform her, should all be well on the other end, that she'll leave before the month is over."

…..

_Presently_

"To bring me home?" Lady Michonne asks. "Why now? Why, after all this time is my father looking for me. He hasn't returned any of my letters. He hasn't sent anyone to see what happened to me; why now? After fifteen years, why now?"

She has to steady herself. She does not want to lose her cool in front of a Tribute, no matter who they are. Rick remains quiet a moment; he sees the hurt flash in her eyes. She really has no idea that her father received no word from her in all those years.

"My Lady," says Rick. "Your father hasn't heard from you since you sent that letter saying you would stay at the Citadel after your residency was over."

"Excuse me?" she asks, completely confused. "What letter?"

"My Lady, a letter arrived for Lord Lucas before your term as a Tribute was set to end. In the letter, you told your father that you would be staying to serve the Lord of the Citadel. You told your father not to bother you or to look for you as you had a new Lord."

"I sent no such letter!" Michonne replies, feeling the anger rise inside of her. "The only correspondence I sent was to beg my father to come and get me, and he did not!"

"My Lady," says Rick, lowering his voice. "He didn't get _any_ of those letters from you. When he tried to open up a dialogue with Lord John, he was met with hostility and threats of war."

Lady Michonne hugs the towel close to her body and begins to pace back and forth. Realization sets in: Her father had not abandoned her; her correspondence had been intercepted. She turns her back on Rick, and struggles to hold the tears at bay.

"Why now?" she asks again. "Why didn't he fight for me then?"

"He thought you had made your choice, My Lady," Rick explains. "And when he heard nothing from you, he supposed that you never wanted to speak to him again. Then he received reports that you had died…"

"Why did he send someone now, and not right away, when I _needed_ him?" she asks as tears well in her eyes.

"A trader reported that they had seen you alive and well, My Lady," says Rick. "But your father is an old man and could not afford to travel. If he was found in Lord John's lands, he would be pursuant to the laws of _this_ land and his trespassing would be seen as an act of war."

"So he sent you?"

"He was going to send an army, but was advised against it," Rick explains. "Fiefdoms can't go to war on an unconfirmed report."

"So they sent you to investigate?"

"Yes, but I volunteered," Rick replies, surprising the Her Ladyship.

"Even though it's dangerous and you didn't know if I _was_ alive?"

"Yes, My Lady," says Rick.

"All of this trouble for my father to regain possession of his daughter?" she says, as she turns to face him.

"No, My Lady," he says solemnly, holding her gaze. "All of this is for you."

Rick Grimes' blue eyes peer deep into Lady Michonne's dark brown and she feels as if she is nineteen years old again.

"For me?" she whispers.

Rick kneels before her, bows his head and replies, " _Anything_ for you."


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh – my – god," Lady Michonne cries out as the waves of pleasure wash over her perfect from. Her sweet nectar fills Rick's mouth as he drinks her up. He keeps his aquiline nose pressed to her sensitive bus as her sex pulses and her breathing steadies. Her slender fingers grip his loose curls as she holds him in place between her strong thighs.

He wants to touch her so badly. He wants to run his callous hands over her soft skin. He wants his fingers to be drenched deep inside of her walls. He wants to feel the weight of her body covering his. He wants to hold her, safe in his arms.

She regains some equanimity and shifts from her spreadeagled, reclining position on her bed. Now sitting, and still with a firm grasp on the Tribute's hair, she pulls him up from where he is kneeling, and draws his face close to hers.

"Do you enjoy how I taste?" she asks. Her breath is warm on his lips. She can smell her own musky scent.

He cannot look into her dark brown eyes, or he just may come undone. His cock is already dripping, and dangerously close to his Lady. If he holds her gaze, she will see how badly he wants her. Instead, he stares at her heart-shaped lips and then licks his own.

"Yes, My Lady," he replies. "I love how you taste."

She smiles, and then commands, "Look at me."

He lifts his gaze to her eyes. She strokes his hair a moment, before tugging at it roughly and drawing his mouth to hers. When their lips meet, it takes everything in his power not to explode. The kiss is slow and passionate; torturous, even. Her plump lips feel full against his. Her tongue is warm and commanding as it laps against his. She knows exactly what she wants from him; she relishes in the taste of her own juices. She moans into his mouth, before biting his lip and drawing away.

"Thank you, My Lady," he whispers, short of breath and with his heart racing.

She blesses him with a devilish smile, and then pushes him down on the bed. In no time, she is straddling his lap. His dick jerks as he remembers what happened not too long ago when they were in this position. Leaning over him, she retrieves the silk belt from her robe. She uses it to tie her hair back from her face. She then runs her fingernails all over Rick's chest. He keeps his hands at his side and lies there under her complete control, not daring to touch her, but waiting for her to decide what to do next.

She digs her nails into his flesh, before she reaches his erection. She takes hold of his manhood, and gives it a few strokes. Rick's breath hitches, and Lady Michonne says, "You know, I still remember the first time I laid eyes on you at court. You stared at me then, too. My father had you shackled to the wall –"

She massages his bulbous crown in her palm, as she runs her thumb over his dripping tip.

"I watched you, too," she says. "I watched how your impressive dick stayed hard. Hmmm you're still so hard –"

Lady Michonne runs her hand up and down his thick shaft.

"And I was so turned on by you," she admits, while she continues to rub his cock. "I went back to my quarters that night and I played with myself."

She hastens her movements and Rick closes his eyes. Her hand is skilful; he fits perfectly in it. He lets out a little moan.

"I climbed into my bed, and slipped my hand into my panties, and you know what I felt?"

"Hmm, what did you feel, My Lady?" he breathes.

"I felt my tight, wet little cunt," she whispers. She feels his dick jump in her hand. "And I finger fucked myself until I came. And do you know what I was picturing?"

"What – ahh, what were you picturing, My Lady?" he manages to ask.

She grips his hardness tighter and strokes faster.

"I pictured you shackled to the wall," she admits. "I pictured you blindfolded, naked, and helpless. It made my pussy drip. I wondered what it would feel like to have your big cock inside of me."

"I'm not worthy," he says, trying so desperately not to explode in her hand.

"I will be the judge of that," she says, as she stops stroking him and shifts into position. "Now put your hands behind your head."

She kneels close to his erection and then brings his tip to her slick opening. She rubs his large head over her clit, and then dips it just inside. She feels so warm and wet. Rick licks his lips and holds his breath as Lady Michonne toys with his cock, inching it slowly inside of her swollen folds, and then withdrawing it. It is pure torture. He wants to thrust his hips upwards, so that she can swallow him whole, but he knows better than to rush his Mistress. Instead, he lies in place, with his prick throbbing, and waits for his Lady to do what she pleases.

She uses her free hand to dig her fingernails into his chest, leaving red marks on his hot flesh. Rick lets out a little wail and Lady Michonne smiles at him, before lowering herself onto his big, thick cock. His eyes close as she takes all of him; her juices coat his length. She places both hands on his chest and then rolls her hips, sliding up and down his rigid length.

Rick's breath catches as she grinds on top of him. Lady Michonne clenches her walls around his shaft, and he almost comes right then and there. He bites his bottom lip and then opens his eyes. She is stunning to look at, seated on top of him like a Queen on her throne. The light sheen of sweat covering her nakedness causes her to glisten. Her breasts leap as she rides him harder and faster, while she scratches at his skin. He wants to touch her, but he keeps his hands to himself.

She tightens her walls once more and then rolls her hips in a circular motion before drawing her wet pussy up the expanse of his impossibly hard cock.

" _Fuck_ ," says Rick as she slides back down his length and repeats the action.

She smiles again, and then raises up off of his hips. She kneels in place, and keeps just his tip inside of her. Leaning forward, she takes her hands and wraps them around Rick's throat. The pressure causes him to feel lightheaded in the most delicious way.

"Should your Lady have to do all of the work?" she asks, squeezing her hands tighter.

"No, My Lady," he manages to say.

"Then get to work, Tribute," she says. "Make me come."

Without needing further encouragement, Rick thrusts upwards, ramming his aching cock into her sweet, hot pussy. She chokes him harder as he fucks her faster. Her juices drip down his veiny shaft, and her creamy arousal coats his thickness. The sucking noises their fleshly delights elicits is drowned out by her loud moans. Ecstasy encompasses both the Lady and her Tribute as they each come closer to the apex of their pleasure. Rick bucks his hips with more fervor, spurred on by his Lady's bold cries.

"Harder," she commands, as her mouth falls open in the shape of an _o._ "Fuck me harder."

He does as he is told, and drives himself firmly into her core.

"Oh, god," she cries, while simultaneously choking him and taking all of his raw dick. He strikes at her spot and her entire body shudders. "Ahh, ahhhh, hmmmmm."

She is close; so is he. Bolstered by her brazenly enjoying his manhood, Rick hastens his movements. Concurrently, she tightens her grip on his throat. He pumps into her a few more times before she finds her release. Her body quivers as she comes all over his sex; a moment later, he reaches his climax. Quickly, he pulls his pulsing, erupting cock from between her well-fucked lips and quakes until his white, hot seed spills from his tip.

Lady Michonne collapses on top of her Tribute, and bites his shoulder as her orgasm ripples through her. She brings her lips close to his ear, and says, "You may touch me as your reward."

Without hesitation, Rick brings his hands to rest on her perfect backside. He squeezes it and swears he just may come again. He closes his eyes, rubs her ass, and then moans as she kisses him deeply and passionately.

After pulling her lips just an inch from his, she asks, "When you say you'll do anything for me, do you really mean that?"

"Yes, My Lady," Rick whispers in reply. "Anything."

She licks the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip, and then replies, "Good boy, because we have work to do."

 


	8. Chapter 8

Her Ladyship usually felt jovial when she was afforded the opportunity to visit with her daughter. In the early days, when she had found out she was pregnant, she was sad. Mainly because the customs of the land dictated that any Tribute who bears children to their Lord has no right as the child's legal guardian. She knew John would take the child from her. She had almost resigned herself to the fact that she would be able to walk away; that she would be able to return to her homelands without her offspring. But when, after a dangerous and arduous labor, the small, defenceless child let out her first cry, Lady Michonne knew she could not abandon her. She could not leave her daughter there with the Usurper. So she stayed. She accepted his marriage proposal, and stayed at the Citadel.

That was fifteen years ago. Today, as Michonne takes breakfast with her daughter, she feels hopeful for the first time in a long time. Though she had settled into her life with Lord John, there was still this part of her that wanted to flee. That wanted to take the child and run away. But she knew His Lordship would never let them leave; he would track them to the ends of the earth. Now, with her father's emissary inside of the walls of the Citadel, she knows they have an ally. With a plan in place, she knows they have a chance.

"I almost forgot to show you this," says Missy to Michonne, as she reaches inside of her small bag and retrieves something. It is a brown leather cuff with elaborate embossments all over it. The teen holds it out in her palm, her mother picks it up. She turns it over in her hand; it is quite exquisite.

"This is beautiful," says Lady Michonne. "You made this yourself?"

"Yes," she answers with a smile. "I've been working on it for a little while now. It's for father."

"A gift for his birthday?"

"Yes," she supplies. "I know it'll be a busy day, and that I probably won't be allowed to stay after the feast, but I really want to spend the day with him; with you, too."

"I'd love that," Her Ladyship replies in earnest.

"So I was thinking if I gave him his gift early, he'd be in a good mood and I'd get to spend the whole day with you both," says Missy with a hopeful look on her face.

"I'll talk to him," says Michonne. "He'll listen to me. And that way, you can hold onto the gift until his birthday. I know it'll mean so much more to you both if you wait, okay?"

Missy nods her head and gives her mother a small smile, before replying, "Okay."

Just then, the door to their private dining quarters swings open, and the man in question steps inside.

"Hello, My Loves," he greets Michonne and Missy.

"Good morning, My Lord," they each reply in unison as he takes up a seat. An Attendant rushes to his side with coffee. His wife discreetly places the cuff back in the bag.

"Thank you for letting us share breakfast today," Lady Michonne says.

"You're welcome," John replies. "I'll be quite busy with preparations for the tourney for my birthday, so I thought it'd be good for all of us to spend some time together."

"That's a nice gesture," says Lady Michonne.

"It's more of a selfish thing for me," he says, and she is unable to read if he is joking; she fears he is not. "You've been spending so much time away from me lately. I must admit that I miss you."

"I know you're busy, My Lord," Michonne replies, hoping he is not in the mood to start an argument, especially in front of their daughter. "I wanted to give you space after Liberalia. The time between the Festival and your birthday is so short. I thought you might need the spare time to focus."

"Mmm," he replies, tearing a piece of toast in half. "What I need is my wife with me, not off with some common Tribute."

Michonne closes her eyes a second; she finds his jealousy asinine.

"Please," she says. "Let's not discuss this in front of Missy."

The teenager lowers her head. She understands that their family is not conventional, and that there is a strain between her parents. She doesn't like to see them at odds. She silently wishes her father would listen to her mother. They rarely have moments together anymore, and she just wants to enjoy it without him ruining it.

"Of course," he says. "Forgive me. I just miss you."

He reaches over and takes her hand. Missy lifts her head.

"When the tourney is finished, we can spend more time together," says Her Ladyship.

"I look forward to it," he offers. "And I do regret being absent, but I do want you to enjoy yourself in my absence."

"As you wish, My Lord," she says with a small smile.

"Just remember that you're my wife," he adds with ice laced through his tone.

Michonne nods her head in his direction, before lifting his hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"Of course," she replies. "How could I forget? Now, I thought we could broach the subject of our daughter's new Attendant."

Lord John drinks from his coffee and raises an eyebrow.

"Is the current Attendant not going to stay on?" he asks.

"It seems not," Her Ladyship replies. "They only have a couple more weeks of their residency left. She has indicated that she would like to return home. It's been a long time for her."

Lord John nods his head, before replying, "Yes, it has. Do you have a replacement in mind?"

"I do," says Lady Michonne. "The young woman who was brought before you for injuring a fellow Tribute."

"The rowdy Southern lass?" he asks. "Daughter of the physician?"

"Yes," says Michonne.

"The young lady who will be fighting in the Arena in a matter of days?"

"Yes, the very one."

Lord John leans back in his chair and gives his wife a dubious stare.

"Why her?" he asks.

"She is a good fighter," says Michonne. "She can protect Missy at the same time as attend to her day-to-day needs."

"You want to shorten her sentence?"

"Once she fights in the Arena, her debt will be paid, surely," says Michonne.

John contemplates her words a moment, before she adds more to her argument.

"I want someone with our daughter who can protect her," she offers. "Missy is growing into a young woman. I don't like the brutish guards who you have following her around. They look at her in ways they shouldn't. Their eyes linger. It's unbecoming."

Lord John's eyes narrow as he lets the words sink in. He would not have anyone look at his daughter in an improper manner. Perhaps a female Attendant who was skilled with a sword would be better suited to tending to their child.

"Very well," he offers. "Have someone fetch her after training."

"I'll get her," says Her Ladyship. "I will better acquaint myself with her, and make sure to ask a few questions."

…..

The afternoon sun is high in the sky as Lady Michonne walks along the border of the training grounds. She is dressed in practical clothing, having just finished training sessions with the younglings.

"The Lady of the Citadel is present!" Morgan calls out. All of the combatants cease their training and take a knee. Her Ladyship's eyes find Rick. He stares at her a moment, a glint of happiness in his gaze. The corner of her full lips turn up into a small grin as she recalls their tryst from the night before. She draws her eyes away from him and looks at his friend, Maggie.

"Morgan, I need to see the young woman a moment," says Michonne.

"As you wish, My Lady," he replies, with a dip of his head. "Maggie. Her Ladyship requests your presence."

Right away, Maggie gets to her feet, dusts off her clothing, and approaches Michonne.

"As you were," says Michonne with a wave of her hand. The combatants resume their training.

Her Ladyship walks away, and Maggie follows her, as does Rick's gaze. When the two women are out of earshot of anyone else, Michonne stops and faces the younger woman.

"How are you, Maggie?" she asks.

"I'm doin' fine, thank you," she replies.

"How is training?"

"It's good, My Lady," Maggie offers earnestly. "I'm keen to compete in the tourney."

"I'm keen to see you compete," Michonne says sincerely. "It'll be a nice change from watching these men duke it out."

Maggie nods her head.

"Speaking of change," Michonne starts. "How would you like a change of position here?"

"My Lady?" asks Maggie, in need of clarification.

"I am offering you the chance to be an Attendant for a child in Lord John's charge," she explains.

"His daughter, My Lady? I mean,  _your_  daughter?"

"Yes," says Michonne. "She has not formally been presented at Court, but will be on his birthday. Her current Attendant will be leaving us, soon. I want someone who is a strong fighter to ward her. Is this something you can do?"

"Yes, My Lady," Maggie replies truthfully. "It'd be an honor. I humbly accept your offer."

"Great," says Lady Michonne with a smile. "Your training for the day is finished. You will come with me to meet your young mistress, and to learn the ropes from her old Attendant. When you finish up this evening, someone will bring you to my chambers to debrief. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Ladyship. Thank you, Your Ladyship."

…..

Sweat glistens all over Lady Michonne's beautifully dark skin. Her strong legs rest on the arms of the throne that sits in her personal quarters. She tightens the silk scarf in her deft hands, and it constricts around Rick's throat. It squeezes just enough to cause him to grow lightheaded, heightening his euphoric state, but not enough that it impedes his ministrations at the apex of her delta.

Kneeling at her feet, Rick works his lips and tongue over her sweet sex. He moans into her slick folds as he laps at her, drinking her nectar, breathing in her aroma. He stiffens his pink tongue and dips it inside, as he rubs his nose against her hooded bud. All the while her loud, brazen moans spur him on as he is allowed to strum his hand up and down his hard cock.

" _Fuck_ ," she breathes. "You're such a good boy."

He hums against her clit.

"Hmmmmm," she moans. "Make me come. I want to come in your mouth."

Determined to please his lady, he flattens his tongue and works it over her sensitive crux, alternating between sucking and licking. Just as her toes begin to curl, there comes a loud rapping at her door.

"Stop," she commands frustratedly, and Rick does so. "Who is it?"

"Forgive me for this intrusion, My Lady, but it's me, Maggie."

Michonne sighs loudly, and then replies, "One moment."

She loosens the scarf from around Rick's throat and then says, "Stand up."

He does as he is told and stands before her. Her eyes fall to his ever-impressive cock, before she trails them back up to his face.

"Turn around and present your wrists at your back," she commands, and the Tribute happily obliges. Lady Michonne binds his wrists together with the silk scarf before standing up behind him. She reaches her hand around and takes hold of his rigid erection. "Wait for me behind the curtain."

"Yes, My Lady."

"So hard," she whispers in his ear before stroking his cock. "I don't want you playing with it until I get back there."

"Whatever you wish, I will do."

"Why is that?" she teases.

"Because you own me," Rick says with joy.

She grips his engorged sex harder and pulls firmly, before asking close to his ear, "Who owns this big, hard cock?"

"You do, My Lady."

She smiles, and then presses a soft kiss to his neck.

"Good," she offers. "Now go and wait for me."

After her Tribute makes his way behind the veil, Lady Michonne closes her robe, fixes her hair, and then walks over to her chamber door. She opens it and greets the young woman.

"Enter," she says, before walking back to her throne. The room smells of sweat and sex.

Maggie follows behind her, and then kneels on the cushion that is on the floor. Michonne is impressed by her obedience.

"How was your first day on the job?" she asks.

"I enjoyed it very much, Your Ladyship."

"Did you go to where the Young Miss of the Citadel stays?" Michonne probes.

"Yes, My Lady," says Maggie. "But –"

"But, what?"

"They were strict in tellin' me that I'm not allowed to tell anyone about it," she admits. "Not even you."

"I see," says Michonne, expecting as much. "What do you think of that?"

"I am here to serve His Lordship and follow his rules."

"That's not an answer," says Michonne, as she walks over to Maggie and strokes her hair. "What do you  _really_  think about me not being privy to my daughter's whereabouts?"

Maggie thinks about what her Lady is asking. The other Attendant, who is very loyal, told her where they house the Young Miss was not to be disclosed to anyone, even Her Ladyship. Maggie finds this odd, and wonders why. She would ponder it some more, but her Lady is awaiting an answer.

"It's strange, My Lady," she replies. "That they keep her from you. It isn't fair."

"You're right," replies Michonne, as she cups Maggie's face in her hand. "It isn't. Just like it isn't fair that you can't fraternize with that handsome young man, what is his name?"

Maggie's eyes grow wide, surely Her Ladyship does not know about her dalliances. She was certain they were being discreet.

"The young Attendant?" says Michonne, as she brushes Maggie's hair from her face. "Ah, yes; Glenn. Young Glenn."

Maggie feels her heart drop.

"You know, sometimes His Lordship's rules are silly," says Michonne as she retreats and takes up a seat on her throne. "I can say it, I am his wife, after all."

She winks at Maggie, who gives her a nervous smile.

"His rule about Tributes not being able to get to know one another," Michonne continues. "That's a silly one, just like me not being allowed to know where he keeps my child. So, you see, Maggie, maybe you and I can help one another and bend his rules. What do you say?"

"I don't know, My Lady," she offers. "It's dangerous."

"You will have my protection," Michonne assures her. "And you will be given time and a secluded place to see young Glenn, if you wish. Would you like that?"

Maggie is conflicted, but her heart longs for Glenn. She wants more time with him, and if her Lady says it is a possibility, then she must take her up on her offer.

"Yes, My lady. Thank you, My Lady," she answers. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to keep this to yourself. Not a word to anyone, do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"I will seek you out in a few days," says Michonne. "Then I will tell you what I need. Now go."

Maggie offers a quick nod of her head, gets to her feet, and then exits the room. Lady Michonne locks the door behind her, and then steps behind her curtain. She finds Rick waiting on his knees. She smiles down at him.

"Getting your friend involved was a good idea," she says, while gesturing for him to get to his feet.

Rick stands and nods his head before replying, "Yes, My Lady."

Michonne takes hold of his erection and pulls it, leading him back out to the sitting room. She brings him to the spot in front of her throne as she takes up a seat, and parts her legs. Rick's eyes fall to her succulent lips; they are still slick from before. His cock twitches as he salivates at the sight.

She lifts her legs back to the arms of the seat; her moist, swollen folds open like a blooming flower.

"Tomorrow, I want you to tell her you overheard our conversation," says Michonne, as she uses two fingers to rub her juices up to her clit, causing Rick's breath to hitch. "See if she divulges anything. Can you do that for me?"

He swallows hard as she slips her fingers inside of her dripping wet pussy.

"Yes, My Lady," says Rick. "I can do that for you."

"Good," says Michonne with a smile, as she withdraws her fingers and sucks them into her mouth. "Now get on your knees and finish what we started."

Rick does as he is told, and brings his lips back to her sex as he licks the length of her slit. She closes her eyes and grins. The plan is falling into place. Working with him is a good idea. He is smart and perceptive; she knows she made a good choice. As Rick sucks her clit, she thinks back to the night before.

_The wick of the candle is almost burnt out. Lady Michonne is unsure of what the exact time is, but she knows the hour is late. She and her Tribute are engaging in pillow talk, having worked out the finer details of her plan. He has agreed to assist her in leaving the Citadel. When the time is right, they will take her daughter and flee. It is not going to be an easy feat, but Rick Grimes assures her it can be done. He is loyal to her father, and will do all in his power to ensure Michonne will return to her true home. He will make sure they exit safely and discreetly, leaving the Usurper behind._

_They lie in comfortable silence as Rick contemplates what needs to be done in the near future. Lady Michonne muses that it feels almost surreal to have someone who is completely on her side. To have someone who does not serve His Lordship; to have someone who will help her in making her dream to escape a reality. Lord John's dominion over his realm, and over his wife, were too strong. She had no real allies, no real supporters. Now, as she lies naked beside the Tribute, she knows change is afoot._

_"What are you thinking about?" she asks; he turns his head so that he may look at her._

_"About all the things I need to do," he replies._

_Lady Michonne leans up on her elbow and glances at Rick lying flat on his back beside her, before asking, "What exactly are you willing to do for me?"_

_"Whatever it is you want me to do," he answers._

_"Find where he keeps my daughter?"_

_"Yes," he offers sincerely._

_"Secure our passage?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Will you kill the Lord of the Citadel if the need to arises?"_

_"Without hesitation," he replies almost too eagerly._

_Silence pervades as their eyes lock._

_"Is it your wish that I speak freely on these matters tonight, My Lady?" he asks with caution._

_"Yes," she says earnestly._

_"Then I may ask you a question?"_

_"Go ahead," she offers._

_"Do you trust me?"_

_"I do," she replies. "You are a man of honor. You spent your residency in my home. You are a Vassal of my father. A man from my homelands. I trust you. I feel like I know you."_

_"And I feel the same about you," Rick offers. "I want you to know that you can trust me. I want you to know that I pledge myself to you, My Lady. I pledge my sword and my service. I pledge my body and my soul. Whatever it is you want from me, it's yours. If you want the Usurper dead, I will cut him down with his own blade. If you want me to lay down my life for you, I will gladly die. I am your humble servant. I will do your bidding. I am yours."_

_Lady Michonne cannot help but smile. She reaches her hand over and places it to Rick's chest._

_"Being the Lady of the Citadel has afforded me many privileges," she starts. "I have wealth beyond measure. Attendants at my beck and call. Walls and guards to protect me; a husband who grants me almost anything I desire. And sworn allegiance. But never, in my whole time of being here, have I fully believed anyone like I believe you, Rick Grimes. All of these posturers who surround me, their words of praise seem hollow compared to yours. And for the life of me, I can't explain why that is. Why do you speak with such ardent devotion for a woman you have only just begun to know?"_

_Rick smiles back at his Lady. She really has no idea just how enamored he is with her; how enamored he has always been with her. How, since the first moment he laid eyes on her when he came to Court all those years ago, he was struck by her beauty. How she commanded his attention. How he had admired her from afar. How he had longed to touch her; to be in her presence. How he wished he could be the one who welcomed her into womanhood. How he was jealous that she was sent to the Citadel to a man who could not adore her half as much as he did. How he spent his adult life training and waiting for the moment to present itself so that he might come for her. So that he might bring her home. How he needed no payment nor thanks for the privilege._

_"I may not know you very well, but I've known you every night in my dreams, My Lady," he says. "From the first time I saw you in your father's home when you looked into my eyes, you've had this power over me, and I can't explain it, but I knew then and there I would be devoted to you. Even now that you've been gracious enough to welcome me into your bed, I want to pinch myself to prove this isn't a dream."_

_"You've been infatuated with me this whole time, Tribute?"_

_"Yes, Lady Michonne."_

_"And your infatuation is reason enough for unyielding devotion?"_

_"My devotion to you is simple and true. There's no two ways about it, My Lady; I'm yours, in every way. I will be yours, for as long as you desire," he explains honestly. "But my passion for you isn't the reason why I'm devoted to you."_

_"Then why are you?"_

_"Because, regardless of your beauty, charm, grace, and power, you deserve it," he offers. "You deserve to be respected and revered and loved."_

_His words take her breath away. In that moment, alone in the lambent candlelight, Lady Michonne has never felt so adored. She strokes her hand over his firm chest before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He lets her control the pace of the kiss as she parts his lips with her tongue to deepen it. Just when he has settled into it, she draws away from him. She stares into his eyes and runs her hand down the side of his face._

_"You want to love and revere me?" she asks while tracing her thumb over his bottom lip._

_"Yes, My Lady," he replies. "I want to worship you."_

_She beams brightly at her Tribute before inching away from him and lying on her back._

_"Start with worshipping my body," she commands, as she parts her thighs and waits for him._

_"I can touch you freely, Mistress?" he asks. "For your pleasure?"_

_"Yes," she replies. "You can touch me; taste me; fuck me. You can make love to me. Worship me with every inch of you."_

_Needing no more encouragement, Rick covers Lady Michonne's body with his as they share another passionate kiss. He needs to be as close to her as possible, so he rests her head on his arm while he positions himself between her thighs. Her figure is hot against his. She feels softer than he ever dreamed she would be. He moves his lips from her mouth, and then presses them to her elegant neck. She tilts her head to the side, affording him better access as he rolls his tongue over her smooth skin. She threads her fingers through his hair as he works his way down to her clavicle, and then lower to her breast._

_He is salivating as he sucks one of her dark brown nipples into his mouth, while he palms the other. It stiffens as he swirls his tongue over it, causing her to moan in pleasure. His hand caresses her full breast before he snakes it down her waist and rests at her hip. He reaches around to cup her backside while peppering slow kisses over her chest. Shifting to his knees, he brings both hands to her ass, while lifting her lower half off the bed. She spreads her legs wider for him and waits for him to enter her._

_He takes the crown of his sex and runs it over her slick folds. He then uses both thumbs to hold his cock in place as lunges forward and rubs his shaft over her sensitive little nub. She watches keenly as his dripping tip nearly reaches her navel each time he thrusts his hips. He repeats the motion again and yet again until her coaxes her clit from under its hood. Her pussy drips from his attentions. She brings her hands to her chest and begins to pinch her nipples. Rick watches her and feels himself grow harder still._

_"Hmmmmm," she moans, as his rigid manhood massages her. "Hurry up, Tribute. Fuck me; worship me."_

_He draws his length backwards until his rounded head is nestled near her center. His mouth falls open as he slides his thick cock between her swollen lips. She is so wet and warm and tight. She moans as he fills her, and he feels proud that he can elicit such a glorious sound from his Lady. He rests his hand on her hips and slowly thrusts. He glances between their bodies and watches as he slides in and out of her gorgeous lips. His shaft is coated in her arousal; her nectar causing his prick to glisten in the dim candlelight. Engorged, blue-tinged veins are set strikingly against the taut skin his big, raw cock. He has never been this hard before in his life._

_"Fuck," she whispers when he quickens his pace and hits her spot._

_"Hhnnnn," he moans with each thrust as he grabs her legs and pounds her harder._

_Their heavy breathing intermingles with the smacking sound of skin against skin, and the faint sucking of his manhood being driven deeply inside of her tight, hot cunt._

_"Oh, god," she cries, as he thrusts harder and faster. A low growl escapes his throat as she clenches her walls around him. She grips hold of his strong arms and raises her body from the damp bed. He takes hold of her back and lifts her body up until it is flush against his chest while she straddles him. They share a messy kiss while he continues to drive himself into her eager sex. She drapes her arms over his shoulders and rolls her hips, meeting his skilful thrusts as he pumps into her again and yet again._

_"Fuck," he whimpers. "You're so beautiful, My Lady. God, you're so good."_

_They kiss again, all lips and tongues and heated breath, as their bodies rock against one another. Both racing toward their release; both aching and dripping to come. To reach the apex of their pleasure._

_Lady Michonne brings her hand to Rick's damp curls, as she stares into his eyes. She rides him harder, clenching his cock as she does so. He plunges upwards, hitting her spot over and over._

_"Oh, fuck," she breathes. "Ohh, ah, ah, ahhhh."_

_They hold one another's gaze as their bodies begin to shudder and tremble. He looks into her eyes as she comes hard, creaming all over his pulsing prick. Just as he is about to explodes, he lifts her from off of his length and holds her close._

_"Ahh, ahhh, ohhhh," he cries as a hot, sticky stream gushes from his throbbing tip._

_They kiss once more as they silence the whimpers spilling from their mouths. They remain that way for the longest time, locked in an embrace while quivering and panting in the thinly lit room. Their moist skin, warm to touch and brackish to taste, feels as if it belongs melded together; their hearts, beating wildly in a matching rhythm. Lady Michonne draws her swollen lips from her Tribute's as she wipes the sweat from his brow with her palm. She smiles down at him. He takes a deep breath and stares into the depths of her umber eyes before offering her a whispered, "Thank you, My Lady. Thank you."_


	9. Chapter 9

"Why do I always feel like we're wasting the day away?" asks Lady Michonne as she reclines in the chair. Attendants kneel before her and her friend, Sasha, as they prepare the two ladies to have their pedicures.

"Do you still hate being so pampered?" Sasha asks as she gets comfortable in her seat.

Lady Michonne sighs loudly, and then shrugs her shoulders.

"I never said I hated it," she responds in earnest. "We all grew up pampered, didn't we? I guess I figure there are better things I can be doing than sitting here while Attendants paint my toenails."

Sasha erupts in laughter. She has always enjoyed Her Ladyship's dry humor and wit. The two had been steady friends since Sasha arrived several years ago. She was younger than Lady Michonne, and was offered an official position at Court, and they formed a fast friendship.

"What have you been doing while I was away?" asks Sasha, curious to know if the rumors currently circulating around the Citadel were true. Curious to know if her friend really had been spending time with a Tribute. It really was not in Her Ladyship's interests to keep any sort of extra-marital relationship going. Lord John's jealousy would not allow it, at any rate. Still, Sasha wondered what was going on.

"Training the children," says Michonne, as she glances down at the Attendant who had begun washing her feet. "Being a dutiful wife and leader; preparing for my husband's birthday."

"What about the Festival of Liberalia?" Sasha presses. "I missed all of the fanfare. Was it much different to last year?"

"Not really," she offers. "Much of the same, really. John does like what he likes."

"Okay," says Sasha. "It's just that I heard there was an interesting Tribute who came to the Citadel. Heard that he's quite the prize; older, so probably more experienced."

"Have the ladies of the court been gossiping again?" Michonne queries.

"Kind of," says Sasha.

"What have they been saying?"

"That you've got a new pet and that he's exceptional. Is it true?"

"It is," Michonne replies.

"Lord John let you keep him?"

"He did."

"When do I get to meet him?"

"Well, he'll be my Attendant at dinner this evening," Michonne offers. "So, I expect you'll get to see him then."

…..

The tapping of Lady Michonne's shoes echoes through the empty corridor. Her perfume fills the space as it trails behind her. She walks with determination, holding her head high. She is commanding. Rick lifts his gaze when he hears her footfalls. Her eyes are locked on his as he stands attentively beside her chamber doors with his hands at his back. She offers him a smile, one he cannot help but return. When she is near enough to him, he dips his head.

"My Lady," he offers in greeting, before stepping aside.

She holds out a key, and he unlocks the door for her, before holding it open. Her Ladyship steps inside, and her Tribute follows. He kneels on the cushion before her throne and waits with his hand extended. The key sits in his upwards-facing palm. Lady Michonne takes it from him and returns it to her keychain. She takes a seat and then looks at Rick.

"Was your day fruitful?" she asks.

"Yes, My Lady" he answers. "Training was good. I missed seeing you today. I missed you."

A smile creeps across her lips as she says, "Good."

She studies him and then tells him to stand. He does as he is told. She takes in his appearance. He is wearing the ceremonial clothing of Servants of the Citadel. He was dressed neatly in black slacks and a blue tunic with the crest of Lord John's House fixed to left, just over his heart. A belt is fitted to his waist, and his hair is slicked back away from his face. He looks handsome, she muses. Quite delicious. She wonders if they have much time to play before dinner. Glancing to the timepiece set atop her mantle, she sees that they do not. She would much prefer to have more time with her Tribute so decides not to initiate anything with him. Even though the persistent throbbing between her legs grows stronger.

"You look very pleasing to the eye," she offers, as her gaze wanders from his face down to his crotch. "Very handsome."

"Thank you, My Lady," he replies. "I always want to look good for you."

"Step closer," she commands, and he does so right away.

She stands up and moves toward him. She presses her hand to his chest where Lord John's insignia is. He forces the Servants to wear his crest so that their own Houses and heraldry do not matter. So that they remember to whom they belong while they are inside of his walls. Lady Michonne has not seen her own crest since before she came to court at the Citadel.

She runs her fingers over the small emblem. It is grey in color and shaped like a shield. There are two keys crossing one another in the top right corner; a sword in the one adjacent to the keys; a flaming heart next to the keys; and a kneeling man in the other. Lady Michonne does not know if Lord John changed the crest after he overthrew his father. She has never thought to ask.

She lays her palm flat over Rick's heart, and then says, "I find it funny that he calls you common."

"Why is that, My Lady?" he asks.

"Because he throws it around like it's some huge insult to you," she says. "When he doesn't even realize that you're not a commoner at all."

She slides her hand from over his heart, and slowly brings it up to his neck. He swallows hard and she watches his protruding Adam's apple. She then cups his jaw in her hand and stares into his eyes.

"There's so much he doesn't know about you," she whispers. "He doesn't know that you're Noble. He doesn't know where you come from. He doesn't know what you're capable of. He doesn't know what you do to me."

"What do I do to you, My Lady?" he asks, feeling brave.

She gifts him with yet another smile.

"You make my skin feel warm," she offers as she runs her thumb over his bottom lip. Rick feels his cock straining against his slacks. His hands tremble as he fights the urge to reach out and touch her. She inches her face closer to his, her eyes falling to his swollen lips.

"You make me feel safe," she says softly as she brings her hand to his hair; she threads her fingers through his neat curls and brings her mouth closer to his and whispers, "You make my pussy wet."

The Tribute grows stiff as his cock twitches. Her Ladyship presses a kiss to his lips. It is soft at first, and then she deepens it. Their tongues and lips fit together perfectly in a heated, messy kiss. Rick muses he could kiss Lady Michonne all day and he would die a happy man. He misses her lips immediately when she breaks the kiss and sits back down on her throne.

"You're such a good boy," she says with a smile. "I have something for you."

Rick kneels before her, without being told to. She feels a sense of pride deep within; proud that he is so obedient; proud that she holds such dominion over him. He glances up at her with a look of reverence and anticipation. She strokes his hair and fixes it back into place, before reaching down the side of her seat to retrieve something. His eyes light up when he sees her beautiful gift.

Lady Michonne presents Rick with a small silver chain that has a clasp at one end, and a quaint leather loop at the other. It is around three feet long and sturdy; it looks very pretty in the sparse light of her chambers. She fastens the clasp to his left wrist cuff, and then threads her slender hand through the leather loop at the other end. Rick is tethered to Lady Michonne. When she moves, he has no option but to follow. He feels excitement stir in his trousers at the sight of the chain. A visual representation of her ownership of him. However, he silently muses that such a chain is unnecessary as he would willingly stay at her side without it.

…..

The private dining room is ordinary; it is nice, but by no means grand. The room is candlelit from above and the elaborate chandelier casts interesting shadows all about the space. An arrangement of freshly picked flowers sits in the middle of the small, round table. Sasha is already seated at the table when Lady Michonne enters with her Tribute in tow. The two women embrace before Rick draws out the chair for his Mistress to sit.

"Whatever it is, it smells good," says Sasha as the dining room Attendant places the napkin to her lap. "I hope you told the kitchen staff that I need a hearty meal."

Rick mirrors the gesture and lays the napkin across Lady Michonne's lap. He does well not to get tangled in the chain that is attached to each of them. After pouring water for his Lady, he promptly kneels beside her. Sasha watches him with amusement. Lady Michonne has him well-trained.

"I did," Michonne offers with a smile. "Nothing but the best for my Companion."

"Thank you," Sasha says. "I'm glad we got to do this. It's going to be mayhem in a couple of days."

"Me, too," Michonne replies as the Attendant brings their entrées and places them on the table. "Everything will be so hectic. There's so much that needs doing."

Sasha nods her head and then asks, "How's the Tourney planning?"

"It's coming along nicely. The youngsters are ready for their exhibition bout, and the main event is looking like it'll be a stunner."

"Yes," Sasha says gleefully. "I heard there's a woman competing? Is that true?"

"You mean Maggie," Lady Michonne offers. "She's a wonderful fighter. When she first got here, she got into it with another Tribute. Some brute who showed her disrespect. She put him in his place."

"That's great," says an elated Sasha. "I can't wait to see her in action."

"Neither can I. I think she's quite a…" just then, the door opens and Lord John steps inside.

"Forgive my intrusion, Ladies," he offers.

"My Lord," they both reply.

"Is something the matter?" asks Michonne as she gives her husband a questioning stare. His gaze falls to the Tribute kneeling beside his wife.

"Not at all," he says, through clenched teeth. "I just came to check if everything was to your liking, but I think I might join you."

"My Lord?" she asks. "I thought Lady Sasha and I might be alone for the evening."

John grabs a chair from the wall, and places it next to Michonne. He glares at Rick a moment, and then brings his steely gaze back to his wife.

"But, you're not alone, My Love," he offers, gesturing toward Rick.

She nods her head, and says, "Of course. Forgive me, My Lord."

He reaches for her hand, and tries to lift it. He notices the chain that is joining his wife to the Tribute. He is unimpressed.

"Remove this," he says flatly. "I cannot even move to hold my wife's hand."

She goes to protest, but thinks twice of it in the company of others, before sliding the leather strap from off of her wrist and over her hand. She passes it to the Tribute before Lord John entwines his fingers with hers.

"Leave," he says to Rick, without looking in his direction.

Rick hesitates a moment as he looks to his Mistress.

"Leave," she says, before lifting her gaze and locking eyes with Lord John.

…..

The light from the blazing fire casts shadows on those sitting around it. Everyone has been training hard for the Tourney, so they appreciate a quiet moment beside the fire. Rick approaches, still dressed in his servant's attire. His fellow fighters take in his appearance and throw teasing remarks his way. He cusses at them playfully, then takes up a seat beside Maggie, who is similarly dressed.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Was fine," she replies. "It's different working for the Young Miss. Don't have to smell these guys' asses all day."

The pair break out into laughter.

"Look at you," she says, gesturing toward his outfit. "Seems like we're both steppin' up in the world."

Rick chuckles and then says, "Yeah, seems like it. So, this new job of yours, it doesn't keep you outta the Arena?"

"Nope," she replies, before lowering her voice to a whisper. "Apparently Lord Asshole still wants to see me fight."

Rick laughs, and then whispers, "Lord Asshole's a mighty fittin' name for him."

"Right," Maggie replies quietly so that no one can hear them. "He doesn't deserve his beautiful wife and daughter."

"No, he doesn't," says Rick coldly. "He should be careful that someone doesn't steal 'em both away."

Just then, a guard approaches and says to Maggie, "You. Woman. Her Ladyship requests your presence right now."

…..

Maggie's eyes grow wide as she takes in her surrounds. Lady Michonne watches her with amusement; the young woman had obviously never seen so many devices of pleasure and pain. Her Ladyship thought it best for them to meet in her private Play Room, that way no one would think twice about their secret rendezvous. They did not have much time before Glenn arrives, so Michonne began with her explanation.

"I'll summon you here when I need information," she says. "It will look like you and your young beau are here for my pleasure, but in fact, it'll be so that you can relay the information I need about where my husband is keeping my daughter. Then, when Glenn arrives, you can have a full hour with him on your own. That is your payment for your duties. Are we in agreement?"

"Yes, My Lady," says Maggie. "Thank you, My Lady."

"Right, we have ten minutes," says Michonne. "Tell me everything you did and saw today."

…..

It is warm inside of Lady Michonne's chambers as she prepares for bed. The day has been long, and all she wants to do is get some sleep. She needs to be well rested for the events of the coming days. She also needs to have a clear mind if she and Rick are going to formulate and execute a plan. Maggie gave her some pertinent information about guards' schedules, and how much time she and Missy had alone. She informed her Lady about the distances between the Citadel and where the Young Miss is housed, known as the Maison. She spoke of how many other servants were allowed access to the Maison. While the information was helpful, Lady Michonne decided that Maggie needed to do more reconnaissance before she would be able to formulate a solid plan.

Michonne sits on top of her bed and applies lotion to her soft skin. There is so much that is on her mind at that moment, that she thinks sleep may not come easy. As she moves to extinguish her candles, there comes a swift tapping on her door. She sighs, and then stands before making her way to answer it. When the door opens, Lord John is standing there looking apologetic.

"What do you want?" she asks, in no mood for his games, as she walks away from the door. He steps inside, and then closes it.

"My Love, don't be sore with me," he says.

"You made a fool of me tonight at dinner, John," she says while folding her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry…"

"Sorry isn't good enough," she offers as he steps closer and tries to touch her. She recoils; he appears offended. "You made me look foolish in front of my friend and official Companion. In front of the Attendants. In front of my Tribute."

"It all comes back to your Tribute, doesn't it?"

"Jealously doesn't suit you, My Lord," says Michonne as she walks away behind the curtain that leads to her bed. John follows. "And being jealous of a Tribute is beneath you."

She sits on the bed, and John tries to move nearer to her.

"Stop," she says. "I can't even stand to have you touch me."

"My Love?" he says. "Surely I haven't offended you so much that…"

"Be quiet and hear me out," she demands. "I am not one of your Servants, or Tributes. I am your wife. The Lady of the Citadel, and you would happily make me look a fool?"

"I'm sorry, My Love," he says, before falling to his knees in front of her. "How can I make this up to you? Do you want to tether me to the wall and lash me? I know how much you like to show your dominance, and you are the only woman I would allow to do such things to me because I love you so…"

"Silence," she says. "I thought we had an arrangement, John? I thought I could do as I pleased, so long as I always remained loyal to you. Have I not remained loyal to you? Do you think I like spending my days being pampered? Do you think I like waiting around for you to fuck me? I have needs, and I am to be seen in a certain way by our lessers."

"I know, My Love…"

She places her finger over his mouth to quiet him.

"You can't do that again," says Her Ladyship. "You can't undermine my dominance in front of others."

"I understand," he offers. "But what about how I look in front of others when you drag your plaything around with you everywhere?"

"You appear to be the strong and virile man that you are," says Her Ladyship, though she does not believe her own words. "Someone who allows his wife her dalliances, who has no need to fear that she will not return to him. Someone who is secure in his own manhood that he allows his wife to take pleasure in subjugating her pet. That is who you are. Not someone who gives in to his jealousy, and upsets his wife in the process."

"You are right, My Love," he says as he reaches his hands out to touch her thighs. She shudders slightly, but not from pleasure. "Forgive me. How can I make it up to you?"

"I want to see our daughter tomorrow," says Michonne, as she covers his hands with her own, and parts her legs. "I want to have the day with her. The _whole_ day with her."

Lord John's eyes fall to the sweetness between her thighs as he leans in closer.

"Yes, My Lady," he replies, as he licks his tongue over her warm sex. "Anything you want."

 _Good_ , thinks Lady Michonne as she rests her legs over his shoulders and begins to work out her plan.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite all of the things that led to Michonne ending up at the Citadel and becoming the Lady of the estate, she did have to admit she enjoys one of its perks: Being the only one to hold Lord John in sexual bondage. While his need for complete control over others fuels his dominance, he, on occasion, likes to relinquish that control to his wife. She is a very good Mistress: Stern, confident, and ever the sensual being. She can read someone and tell what they like. She enjoys having dominion over them, even though she answers to John, like all others do. He gladly offers himself over to her for her pleasure as a way of nurturing her dominant side and getting what he needs, too. The morning of his birthday is the perfect time for both of them to indulge. It is also the perfect opportunity for Lady Michonne to test one of her ideas.

Lord John is quite tall, standing well over six feet. His Lady needs to adjust the fixtures on the Saint Andrew's Cross to accommodate his height. The new steel cuffs she had installed replace the old leather ones. They are far more sturdy; far more secure. Though padded with soft wool on the inside, they are difficult to escape from; the small loops for the padlocks ensure this.

"This is new, My Love," says John as she fixes his wrists into place.

Michonne's firm, gloved hand swiftly slaps him across his cleanly shaven face. His head falls to the side as a smirk crosses his lips.

"Did I say you could speak?" she asks sternly.

"No, My –"

She grips John by his throat and stares into his eyes.

"Speak again without my permission, you patricidal piece of shit, and I will rip your little, limp cock from your body with my bare hands and feed it to the peasants. Do I make myself clear?"

She sees the mirth and desire flood his gaze. His erection quivers at her harsh words as he nods his head.

"Good boy," she replies, as she brings her lips close to his but does not kiss him.

She trails both hands down his naked form and bends so that she can fasten his ankles to the cross as well. His stiff cock is close to her face, and he has the nerve to thrust his hips forward in the hope of getting some form of contact. He's an entitled little brat, and she mentally makes a note to make him pay for it.

Getting back to her feet, Lady Michonne takes hold of John's erection. She grips it tightly and then says, "So excited, aren't you, birthday boy?"

He swallows a moan as she strokes his length. She brings her hand to his mouth, and then says, "Wet this, you dirty little thing."

John obliges her by spitting onto the dark leather glove. She returns to stroking him. Harder and faster as he lets out little whimpers.

"Don't you dare make a sound," she orders while slapping his face again; she continues her strokes, bringing him closer and closer to his release.

When he finally comes undone from her attentions, she catches his seed, and then brings it to his mouth.

"Such a filthy little boy," she says mockingly. "You made a mess, now clean it up."

He licks the sticky, white substance from her fingers; sucking them into his mouth. She pushed her fingers deeper and he gags on them, which causes her to smile. Then, she removes them, and the gloves, and tosses them aside while John fights to catch his breath.

"I think you need a time out," she says while stepping away from the Cross. "Maybe I'll leave you here so that you miss your birthday celebrations all together. I know how you hate being alone, you poor excuse for a man."

She raises an eyebrow in his direction, and then turns. She slowly begins to walk toward the exit, leaving John shackled to the Cross. She climbs the steps; her heels tapping loudly against the cold floor. John watches her as she makes to leave. She isn't stopping, and he suddenly panics, thinking this is not part of her scene.

"Katana," he says quickly. "Katana."

Lady Michonne stops, and then hides a smile before she turns to look at him. She sees the seriousness in his eyes, so she makes her way back down the steps, and moves closer to him. She stares him down, even though he is no longer in the mood to be subjugated.

"Aww, My Lord, were you afraid I would leave you down here?" she asks, as she runs her hand over the side of his face.

"I invoked the safeword," he replies. "You don't get to ask why."

Lady Michonne lets out a wry laugh, and says, "Indeed. No matter. We're done for the morning."

She goes to remove his restraints, pleased with herself that this test run worked. Next time, she will gag him before she tethers him to the device. Then, she will exact her revenge and leave this place.

…..

Lady Michonne retires to her quarters to change into her clothes for the lunchtime banquet. She needs to wash away the disdain of having to entertain her husband on the day of his anniversary. She has her Attendants bathe her and help her dress in a flowing, yet simple golden gown. The day was going to be a long one, but at least she would get to spend the remainder with her daughter, and hopefully see Rick at the evening Feast after he competes in the Tourney.

She knows he will do well in the Arena. She would be lying if she did not admit she is worried about Rick, but he is a strong and skilled fighter. He is far more experienced than the others who will be competing this day. Still, injuries can happen and she finds herself concerned for her Tribute's safety.

After the Attendants leave Lady Michonne alone, she takes a seat on the edge of her bathtub. She has to admit to herself that the morning's dalliances excited her. Even though it was Lord John tethered and at her mercy, she wished that it was her Tribute, Rick.

Just the thought of him causes her sex to throb. She wishes that she would have had the chance to bind him to the Cross and have her way with him, instead of with her husband. She exhales loudly and closes her eyes, picturing Rick's naked body shackled and ready to be ravaged. Her nipples grow hard as the pulsing between her thighs grows more intense.

Ignoring the fact that she has just been cleaned and dressed, Lady Michonne hikes up her skirt. She slips her hand between her legs and pulls her panties to the side. She doesn't need to check, but dips a finger between her folds anyway to find herself wet. She trails a finger over her slit; her pussy is slippery and engorged. Wet. Soaking. Just from the thought of her Tribute. She has never been so aroused by any man in her life time. Rick Grimes does something to her that she cannot explain.

She inches her finger between her swollen lips before trailing her juices up to her clit. She massages the tiny bud, imagining that Rick is doing it.

"Hmm," she moans as she slides her finger inside. She pumps it in and out, pretending that it's her Tribute's hard dick. She spreads her legs wider and braces herself so that she doesn't fall from off of the tub.

"Ohhhh, fuck," she whimpers as she fingers herself. The sucking sound of her wetness drowns out her moan. "Hmmm."

She slips a second finger into her tight, wet cunt and pumps faster. All the while she pictures Rick's big, thick cock drilling her.

Her fingers are drenched. Her pussy is throbbing. She thumbs her clit and finger fucks herself with more fervor.

"Rick," she whispers as she hastens her movements. " _Oh, fuck, Rick_."

She presses her thumb to her clit once more as she comes all over her fingers. Her body jerks and quakes as her pussy pulses around her fingers. She removes the soaked digits from her sex and licks them clean, hoping that the day passes quickly so that Rick's cock will follow where her fingers have already been.

…..

The day had begun like any other for Rick and the other Tributes. They took breakfast and resumed their duties, however, after breakfast, those who were to compete in the Arena were taken to have their battle attire fitted. Gone were the Servant's uniforms; they were replaced with mail and armor, which was mostly breastplates. Rick notices his armor. It is little more than some mail and a gorget to guard his neck. While it will offer ease of movement, it offers little protection. A sharp enough sword could easily pierce the mail, and there are no gauntlets for his hands. What eases Rick's mind somewhat is the fact that the Tourney will be for exhibition and not a fight to the death.

He pulls the mail over his head and fixes his belt over top of it, ensuring the garment does not move from where it is secured. Once he is dressed, he goes to wait with the others. A sense of excitement fills the air. This is what they have been training for. Most of the Tributes are eager to please their Lord and Lady. Rick is only concerned about Lady Michonne. He knows he will not get close to her until after the Tourney. However, it is Lord John's birthday and he might want to spend time with his wife; he might hide her away from everyone else: Her Tribute included. Sighing, Rick places his hands to his hips and pushes the feeling of deep longing for the Lady of the Citadel down inside of him; he needs to focus on winning his bouts today.

…..

The vibrant sun is bright and warm in the afternoon sky. A soft, easterly wind blows about the outer fields and causes the numerous flags that are on display to dance. It is the perfect day for sport. Horns and drums sound as the Lord and Lady make their way into the Arena, followed by their daughter, and a number of servants. The family take a seat in a raised platform before Lord John, who remains standing, speaks.

"Welcome, subjects of the Citadel," he starts, as he gestures to them with his raised hands; they let out a hearty cheer. "I offer many thanks to you for joining me in celebration of my anniversary. Today is a day of festivities that I have already begun to enjoy with my family. This afternoon will be spent with my subjects; we will be entertained by the Tributes engaging in battle. The first exhibition is a melee; we will enjoy watching fighters do battle in close combat. The last group of four combatants left standing will fight one another until we have one victor. But, before we come to that, please be upstanding while I open the Tourney forthwith."

The people do as they are told. Every able-bodied person gets to their feet and waits. An archer steps into the Arena and nods her head to His Lordship. She takes an arrow from her quiver and lights the end of it with one of the torches that is placed near the podium. She waits for Lord John to give the signal, and then shoots the blazing arrow in the direction of a large cauldron set at the far end of the Arena. When the arrow strikes, it bursts into flames signalling that the Tourney has begun.

…..

Lady Michonne and Missy share a tired smile as one bout finishes, and another begins. Lord John is busy sipping from his wine and making crude comments about the Combatants. Michonne does not know how many fights they have witnessed thus far; her interest only piqued when Rick was doing battle. Just as she knew he would, he was doing quite well. He had defeated all of his opponents; his last being Maggie. She fought with honor and dignity, and he did not take it easy on her because she is a woman. At one point, Lady Michonne thought the young woman might get the upper hand, but she lost her footing and stumbled, and Rick capitalized on that error.

The bouts are shorter and shorter, as the Tributes grow weary from being out in the sunshine doing battle, their wounds notwithstanding. Another bout concludes and Lady Michonne is still bored. The archers return to the Arena and show off their keen eye for hitting their mark. The display is a crowd favorite, and reminds the people of the Citadel that those who work for Lord John are very skilled with their chosen weapons. There are impressed sounds coming from the audience as the exhibition continues. Lady Michonne stifles a yawn; her husband notices.

"Bored, My Lady?" he asks, placing a possessive hand to her knee.

"Pardon me?" she answers.

"Just now, you tried to hide a yawn."

"Forgive me, My Lord," she replies. "It's been a long day."

"Yes," he says, unimpressed with her lack of enthusiasm. "And it isn't over yet."

She offers him a fake smile before resting her hand on top of his and saying, "I know, My Lord. The best is still to come."

"Indeed," he says, as he brings her hand to his lips to kiss.

The horns sound once more as the Archers depart. Morgan steps out and announces the final battle: A Tribute named Anthony versus Tribute Rick. Michonne straightens her back as her eyes dart to the grounds where the fight will take place.

"Ah, that's gotten you far more enthused," says John, noting that his wife has suddenly perked up.

"Last battle of the Tourney," she reminds him. "We're in for an entertaining bout."

"I'm sure we are," John replies, as he finishes off his wine. "Do you care to engage in a friendly wager with me, My Love?"

Michonne watches as Rick and the other Tribute stand facing one another as Morgan explains the guidelines to them.

"All right," she replies. "Your terms?"

"Sweet Daughter," says John to Missy. "Cover your ears a moment, please."

Missy rolls her eyes, and then does as he asks; Michonne sighs. She expects him to say something along the lines of her having to take his dick in her mouth if her Tribute loses. She regrets indulging him.

"Should your boy be triumphant," says John as he eyes Rick. "He will join us in our marital bed tonight."

"Join us or watch us?" she asks.

"Watch us, to begin with," says John. "He can watch, but then I'll have him too, so that you can watch."

Michonne keeps her face neutral.

"And if he loses?"

"Then I'll bugger the both of them," he says with a laugh. "Deal?"

"You're going to do what you want either way," says Michonne slightly dejectedly.

"True," says John with a wicked smile. "And it is my birthday, so I will have my way regardless of the outcome of this bout. Hush now, My Love; they're about to begin."

…..

The fight is over in record time. Rick is in fine form. Anthony, though the victor of his own bouts, is no match for the older, more experienced man. Rick finds himself glancing over at Lady Michonne. She never tears her gaze from him as he swings his sword and bests the young Tribute. There is a wild fire in her eyes. Rick wants to impress her, and he does . After a short five or so minutes, he knocks Anthony to the ground, and holds the tip of his blade to the young man's throat; he concedes defeat, and Morgan announces the winner to the crowd. A loud cheer rises up around the Arena as Rick nods his head in acknowledgement and then helps Anthony to his feet.

"Well," Lord John says of Rick as he turns his head to his wife. "If his stamina in the bedroom is anything like it is in the Arena, we are in for a very interesting evening."

"Agreed," says Lady Michonne, as her stomach sinks; there is no way her Tribute and husband will be able to share a bed with her at the same time. Just as she was trying to figure out how she would handle the situation she _knew_ John would make happen, he stands up beside her.

"Well done, commoner," he says to Rick. "You fought well today."

The crowd cheers once more and Rick offers a soft, "Thank you, My Lord."

"You have impressed the masses. You have impressed my lovely wife, so I offer you, as part of your victory, a seat at our table this evening," says John. "Do you accept?"

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you," says Rick as he bows his head feigning respect.

The crowd erupts again before Lord John quiets them.

"But first," he says, as he waves a number guards over. "You have one more battle."

The guards approach Rick from all sides. They are carrying the bars of a steel cage. They enclose him inside and hammer the pegs into the hard ground. He is effectively caged in. Michonne looks at her husband, then down at her Tribute.

One of the guards opens the cage door, as two others approach from the left. Grasped by metal hooks on the end of poles between them is a groaning, gnashing creature. One that the people have not seen in ages. It is a walker that is covered in steel spikes; spikes forced through his rotting body; spikes fixed to his head. The top of its head is protected by a metal casing that ensures it cannot be put down by having its skull pierced.

"What's the meaning of this?" asks Lady Michonne, suddenly worried.

Lord John does not answer her directly but speaks to the crowd instead.

"Since the commoner proved to be a formidable opponent today, I think he should endure something more challenging; he should face Winslow!" says Lord John as the spectators erupt in applause.

One of the guards tosses a small, sharp sword to the ground in front of Rick as the others disengage the walker from the hooks. They nudge the creature into the enclosure and then shut the door. Rick quickly picks up the blade and backs away from the thing Lord John called Winslow. The crowd grows excited again as Rick takes a defensive stance. He wants to look up at Lady Michonne in case he does not survive but thinks the better of it; he needs to focus. Just then, the creature lunges forward. Rick steps to the side and moves away hastily.

Michonne's heart feels like it is lodged in her throat. She watches on as her Tribute strikes at the walker and dodges its advances. She has seen the type of damage Winslow has done in the past. Anyone who has been found guilty of crimes such as murder were often thrown to the thing; no one has ever survived being locked away with it. She fears for Rick in that moment. He is a strong fighter, but how could he escape this?

Rick knows there is no way for him to escape. The door is locked and the guards will not let him exit unless he does away with the vile thing. He keeps moving, not staying in one spot for too long. While it is slow, the long spikes that had impaled it comes dangerously close to him before it can reach its mangled hands out to grab hold of him. The spikes in the head also look as if they impede the walker in getting its mouth close enough to bite. Perhaps that is what keeps it so rabid: They do not let it feed often.

He is tired from having to fight all afternoon. His feet are heavy, and his breathing is labored. But he will not stop until he finds a way to defeat the walker. While he continues to move away from it, Rick examines it quickly. Most of its upper chest and neck are exposed. He decides to use it to his advantage. He swings his sword and hacks one of Winslow's arms off. It falls away easily due to its decaying form. The other arm is protected by spikes, so he aims for the hand. It is trickier to hit because the walker is flailing it about. A long spike scrapes the side of Rick's right upper arm, causing him great discomfort as it tears his flesh. He backs away, once again on the defensive.

He switches the sword to his less dominant left hand and gets ready to fend off the walker. Hit lunges again, and he steps to the side before he extends his leg and trips the thing. It loses its footing and falls to the ground. Rick wastes no time standing over the top of it, from behind, and moving his blade to its throat. He uses his right hand to grasp the tip of the sword and leans backward. He puts all of his weight into it until he decapitates the walker. Its head drops to the dirt and its body soon follows as he thrusts it forward violently.

Rick scrambles to stand and lets his weapon fall at feet. The spectators cheer loudly and excitedly for him as they celebrate his victory. He moves slowly toward the gate as the guards open it for him. Morgan approaches, and moves to lift his arm to signal his victory, but Rick winces in agony and grips his side.

"Quickly!" yells Morgan after he inspects Rick more closely. "Get a medic! Looks like a spike has pierced his armor. Hurry! He's bleeding!"

…..

There is a great feast with a lot of drinking after the Tourney. Lord John is disappointed that the commoner was injured during the impromptu show with Winslow; he is even more disappointed that the walker found its demise by way of Rick's sword. Still, he is enjoying his evening with the Tribute Anthony sitting on his lap and his wife by his side.

Around an hour or so after Maggie accompanies Young Miss back to the Maison, Lady Michonne plans to retire for the night. She does her best to hide her concern for Rick. She knows he will be taken care of, as she ordered it so, but the worry bubbles away inside of her. She will not be at ease until she sees him safe and sound with her own two eyes. It is getting late and she needs to be with him soon.

She waits until her husband is drunk and preoccupied with the handsome Tribute before she makes her intentions to leave known. Lord John takes hold of her hand, and then forces the young man onto his knees to that he can fellate him under the table.

"Will you join us, Wife?" he asks, as he removes his erection from his pants. "I would love to take him from behind as he feasts between your thighs."

"No, thank you, My Lord," she replies sweetly. "I have a bit of a headache. It's been a long day. But you should definitely take him to bed with you. I will retire to my own quarters soon."

She bends down and kisses him as the young man under the table sucks him off.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," she whispers.

"Thank you, My Love," he replies.

She leaves Lord John with his conquest for the night, and sets off to find her injured Tribute.

xXxXx

The private room of the infirmary is dark. Soft overhead lights offer some kind of illumination. Lady Michonne steps inside. Her footfalls are tentative. She searches the room until her gaze falls upon her Tribute. Rick is in a reclining position atop a small bed. He lifts his head when he notices that he is no longer alone. He moves to sit up when he sees that His Lady is there. She gestures with her hand to tell him to remain where he is. He waits for her to speak. She draws nearer to him and sits on the cot before placing a hand to his leg.

"How are you?" she asks, genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.

"I am okay, My Lady," he replies, happy to see her.

"Are you in much pain?"

"A little," he answers. "But better now that you are here."

Her eyes roam over his form. He is wearing next to nothing. He has been stripped of his mail and armor; laid up with just his under garments on. Her gaze falls to his injuries. His arm and abdomen are bandaged. He is bruised all over and she cannot deny that it appeals to her sadistic side to see him in such a state. She reins in her desire and speaks once more.

"It pains me to see you incapacitated."

"Your concern warms me," he offers. "Can I ask what you are doing here?"

"Checking on you," she says. "I wanted to make sure you weren't in too bad of a state."

"I'm much better now that you're here," he admits.

She blesses him with a smile as she presses a firm hand to his bandaged arm. He flinches somewhat, before taking a deep breath and moaning. The pain medication has left him feeling high; he admits to himself that he enjoys the pain when his Mistress is causing it. The mood in the room shifts.

"You were impressive earlier today," she says. "I enjoyed watching you do battle."

"Really?"

"Yes," she supplies. "You've always been a strong, worthy fighter. I didn't like seeing you get hurt."

"I'm better, now," he offers. "Your presence is like a balm to my injuries."

"Good," she says, while running her hand up his form. She brings her fingers to his chest, stroking his nipples until they grow hard.

"Your display today excited me."

"I aim to please you."

"You pleased me very much," she says, before trailing her hand up to his face. She traces the edge of his strong jawline. Rick's breath hitches as she thumbs his lips. "I got so wet while I was watching you."

His cock twitches at her words. He hopes she notices as he grows hard. He waits for her to continue; she does so.

"I ended up soaking my underwear just from seeing you out there in the Arena," she says as she pinches his nipple. He lets out a moan and she grins. "I wanted to fuck you so, so badly."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah ," she replies. "I wanted to call an end to the Tourney and take you away somewhere we could be alone. Would you have liked that?"

"Yes, My Lady," he supplies without hesitation. "Very much so."

"Did you think of me at all today?"

"You are all that I thought of," he says in earnest. "You're all that I think of. I missed you. I fought as well as I did for you."

"Good," she says with a smile as her hand slides southward. She slips it under the waistband of his underwear. Her hand is warm and causes his manhood to stand at attention. She teases him further. "You fought for me?"

"Yes, My Lady," he offers. "For you, and only you."

She inches her hand lower until she finds his rigid prick.

"Hmmm," she says. "So hard."

"Only for you," he whispers as she grips his shaft.

"I was hoping to find you in a state where you'd be ready and willing to be fucked."

"Always," he says. "I am at your beck and call."

"But you've been injured," she reminds him, pouting playfully.

"Your presence heals me," he says, which pleases her. She feels her pussy throb at his eagerness.

"Are you healed enough for me to fuck you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he replies keenly, even though he is in no fit state. "I'm always ready for you to fuck. Please, use me as you see fit. Fuck me, My Lady."

She strokes his hard dick before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Good boy," she says, as she thumbs his dripping tip. "How shall we do this?"

"However you desire," he says.

"I don't want to injure you more than you already are."

"Do what you will," he offers. "I am here for your pleasure, My Lady."

She grins and tightens her grip on his big, red cock as she hastens her ministrations. He is beyond hard and aching for her.

"Remove these," she orders, referring to his underwear. She lets go of his manhood and Rick draws the garment from his hips, then kicks them off; he winces from the pain in his side. Lady Michonne watches as he strips himself and his sex springs upwards, standing defiantly in the cool night air. He chances a glance at her as his dick quivers, missing her touch.

Suddenly, she stands. She reaches her hands up underneath her gown and pulls her panties downward. She steps out of them and then draws her dress from her upper body. Her pert breasts now on display. Rick watches, sure that he just might come from taking in her magnificent form. She removes the dress and lets it fall to the floor before rubbing her hands over her tits. Her nipples stiffen from her attention. Rick's mouth waters as he stays lying in place.

Lady Michonne reaches out to stroke his sex once more before she climbs onto the bed. She straddles him, careful not to touch his wound. He places his rough hands to her silky thighs to hold her steadily.

"I'm going to ride you, now," she whispers.

"Thank you, My Lady," he supplies as she shifts her position. She takes hold of his swollen cock and guides it to her dripping center.

She inches herself down onto his manhood. He holds his breath as she envelops him. Taking his entire length between her engorged lips. She feels so warm and wet and Rick has to find some composure so that he doesn't come right then. Lady Michonne rolls her hips as she grows accustomed to the feeling of her Tribute's big, thick cock back inside of her.

"Hmmm," she moans as she grinds on top of him. "You're so fucking good."

Rick says nothing as he relishes in the feeling of her tight, hot cunt drenching his hard, veiny cock. She slides her pussy up and down as she shamelessly moans. Her hands press against his chest as she builds up momentum.

"Fuck," she whispers. "You feel so good. You're a good boy. Go ahead. You can touch me."

Rick needs no more encouragement as his hands massage her tits before slipping downward to her ass. He holds her in place as she rides him. Her sopping wet sex squeezes his hard cock as she rolls her hips expertly.

"Fuck," she whimpers. "You're so fucking hard."

"Only for you," he says as his eyes roll shut. She notices, and swiftly, but gently slaps his face.

"Watch me," she orders. "Watch me as I fuck you."

"Hmm, yes, Mistress," he moans. "Sorry, Mistress."

She bounces her ass up and down, swallowing his length with each movement.

"Ahhh," he breathes; a little out of pleasure, a little out of pain.

"Hmmm," she replies as she rides him harder and faster.

Her hands find his neck as she wraps them about his throat and grinds on top of him with more vigor. She slides her impossibly wet pussy up and down his aching cock as she chokes him. His head grows lighter, intensifying his pleasure. She fucks him and chokes him, causing his straining cock to shudder. Her climax draws closer and he doesn't know how long he can hold out for. He wants so badly to explode, but he needs his Lady to find her release first. She relinquishes her grip on his throat and brings her fingernails to his heaving chest. She claws at him as she rides him harder and harder and faster and faster. Her aching, dripping cunt clenches his throbbing cock as she creams all over it. Her walls quiver as her stiff little clit pulses.

"Ohh, fuck," she cries as she comes all over his red, raw cock.

She tightens her pussy just as Rick comes inside of her. His white, hot seed spurts into her womb as he cries loudly.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Oh, fuck. Thank you, Mistress. Thank you."

She rolls her hips as his stickiness gushes inside of her.

"Hmmmm," she moans, as she fights to catch her breath. "Good boy. Good fucking boy."

As her orgasm ripples through her, Lady Michonne leans down and captures Rick's lips with her own. Their tongues lap at one another before she bites his bottom lip. They pant and whimper as their pleasure washes over them. He is no longer wary of his injury; she is far beyond sated.

She kisses his face as he whispers, "Oh, god, My Lady. I love you. Fuck, I love you."

Lady Michonne smiles against his warm skin and says, "Good."


End file.
